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whitenoisefanfiction · 1 month ago

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Did I just write a Hannibal/Squid Game crossover reincarnation short fic? Yes, yes I did. Why? Because reasons.

I can't help it that the Front Man reminds me so much of Dr Lecter and Gi-hun is so Will Graham coded (even if I didn't get around to bringing Gi-hun into this story yet)

So this was written fast with absolutly no chill or spell and grammar check and is terribly OOC. Now I am posting it here because I cannot think of a title to post it on AO3. Fic titles are my mortal enemy.

Read if you dare.

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If asked, Hwang In-ho would tell anyone that he didn't believe in reincarnation. In fact, if asked later in his life if he believed, he would have probably had the one asking beaten, if not shot. As the Front Man in charge of the Games which had an international reach and money beyond anyone's wildest dreams, he needed to be practical, smart and could not be fooled by silly superstitions. But in private, it was a different matter.

In-ho did believe in reincarnation. In fact, he was sure he himself was the product of such a practice.

It had happened suddenly, the realisation he had lived before. When the first dreams came, all the way back in 2015.

They had started the very night he had received Oh Il-nam’s offer to rejoin the Games, not as a competitor this time, but as the Games Master. The one pulling the strings.

In-ho had initially been disgusted by the offer. Despite his loss, he had still been a man of principles and even though he now had blood on his hands, the blood of his fellow competitors from his own game, he still tried to cling to that one small shred of goodness he believed was within him. Tried to ignore the rush of power he had felt at the game's conclusion only a few short months prior, knowing he was the lone survivor and winner.

He had taken the offered business card, the armed guards at the old man's back the only reason he had maintained a polite composure and hadn't lashed out after being cornered. They had managed to locate him in the dark streets of Seoul while he had been walking aimlessly, his life a mess now that his one goal, to keep his wife alive, had failed. In-ho knew then, he hadn’t escaped. They knew where he was. He was still in hell.

In-ho had tried not to hear the old man's subtle comments about his eyes being those of a killer, of being a man with a peculiar experience. Rejected the offer and ignored the way the old man laughed at the answer, stating that he would be allowed a few days to reconsider.

“You have been here before.” The old man had said as a parting comment. “I am curious what you will do with your second chance.”

In-ho had ignored the statement at the time, brushing it off as similar to the unusual comments the man had made when they had first met during the games, back when he had appeared to be a frail older contestant, unlikely to survive the trials they faced.

In-ho had taken some pity on him, back in the games, fooled by the mask. He hadn’t exactly been kind, snapping and pushing the old man when he realised danger was near but he had tried to protect the man at least a little. He couldn’t be a police officer if he had turned his back on someone asking for help.

And that seemed to have been his curse. The reason Il-nam seemed to favour him, enough to make such an offer.

Head spinning from the confrontation, In-ho had made his way home, card shoved hurriedly into his pocket, only to be taken out again once he stumbled through the door so it could be thrown on the table.

In-ho had pointedly ignored it. If he was being watched, he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing him contemplate their insane offer.

Instead, he had curled up on his too large bed, ignoring his phone which rang constantly as his brother desperately called him and tried to think of anything except for the memory of the fearful eyes looking up at him, the other competitor who had tried so hard to kill him. Tried to think of anything except the strange feeling of pleasure as he felt his attacker's life slip away under his hands. Of the blood money in his bank account, untouched, tainted.

The dream hadn't felt right either. Instead of slipping slowly into sleep, it had come on suddenly. One moment, In-ho was laying on the cold bed, wishing for everything to change and the next, he was slowly rising from a chair at the sound of footsteps. Standing, In-ho turned to look at his surroundings. A small, sparsely furnished room, more like a cell than a home. But the strange thing was the wall. One of them seemed to be made of glass. He was inside it, like he was on display. An animal, turning tricks for an audience.

The footsteps drew near and then a man stepped out of the shadows and into view.

He was a westerner, so like the tourists who crowded the streets of Seoul. He was dressed in a shirt and jeans. Comfortable, yet cheap clothing. His dark curls hung limply over his face, partly hiding his eyes and yet, In-ho could feel them on him.

There was something about this man. Sometimes that made In-ho’s cheat ache but he didn't know why. Without thinking, In-ho stepped towards the glass which separated him from the man.

He noticed how the man trembled slightly, like a frightened rabbit before he caught himself, tensing up and ready to fight. A prey animal suddenly turned predator.

“Hello Will.” A voice said.

In-ho heard the voice. He felt it slip from his own throat and yet, it was not his voice. Not his language.

In-ho knew only a little bit of English. He had picked it up over the years but he had never been even close to fluent and would never resort to it as a first language. So why had he said those words in English? Why had he addressed the westerner in that manner?

The man didn't seem surprised by the greeting, unlike In-ho. Instead, his gaze finally met In-ho's, and In-ho found himself gazing at the most intense stare he had ever seen.

A mixture of emotions rushed through his body, In-ho struggling to identify them all. Joy, longing, amusement, lust. All of them crashed down on him. And in the man's eyes, he recognised a similar storm. The man was just as caught up in his emotions.

This man, whoever he was, was important. Important enough that In-ho knew he would kill for this man. Had killed for him. A measly human life was nothing if it meant having this man's gaze on him always.

The man hesitated for a moment before breaking his gaze.

“Hannibal” He replied, also in English and the tone was music to In-ho's ears. And In-ho remembered the sharp feeling of hot blood on his hands. Of fresh meat between his teeth. A satisfaction of knowing a pig had been slaughtered and there was a game afoot.

In-ho woke with a gasp, his mind whirling.

What had that dream been?

In-ho didn't know, but rather than feel disgusted, he felt intrigued. Why was the feeling of blood, of death, suddenly so attractive? Why did he suddenly feel like he could gain the man's attention, if only he was creative enough?

In-ho didn't know what was happening to him but the ghost of those feelings clung to him like a second skin. The desire, not just to kill, but to impress. To show his true colours.

In-ho caught himself? What was he thinking? He had just escaped hell and lost his beloved wife and child. He may have been dismissed from his employment but he was still a law abiding man, a former officer of the law. He had seen death close up and never felt anything but revulsion and pity. He had lived through hell, fighting his way out with his bare hands and never experienced a single moment of joy in it. Why now, did the idea of murder excite him?

And why has that dream felt so real? So right?

Had it even been a dream or had he seen something otherworldly?

In-ho knew something had shifted inside him. A small part had changed and was continuing to change, as if his soul had taken on something new.

The man with the intense gaze. In-ho wanted, no, needed to find him. To somehow speak to him and understand him.

But how could he do that? He was a poor man in Korea. Yes, he had just won billions but he had no connections, no ability to find one westerner. He had no idea where these men had even been when this conversation took place. And more to the point, why was he suddenly assuming these men, who had been figments of a dream, were real?

How was he supposed to find out?

And yet, he did have a contact available. Someone who had vast powers and could maybe give him answers. He wasn’t ignorant of that. But to do that was to possibly sell his soul to the devil.

Glancing over at the table where he had dumped the card, he thought for a long time about what he could do.

Days passed as he contemplated his next move, hidden away in his home. He ignored Jun-ho’s arrival, his little brother frantically knocking at the locked door and shouting his name until the brat was finally asked to leave by the landlord. He ignored the phone calls from his peers and friends, trying to find out if he was ok. Ignored his desire to eat or sleep as he replayed the dream in his mind, becoming more and more convinced it was more than a dream.

Finally, on the third day of his self imposed lockdown, he cracked.

Rising to his feet, he grabbed the card and his phone, carefully dialing the number.

He hadn’t managed to get any words out when the call was picked up, the voice on the other end stating a time and place before hanging up again.

It should have been enough to make In-ho wary, but the fatigue of the last few days had left him mentally drained. Instead, he had gathered his coat and the card and left his apartment, making his way to the location.

A limo had been waiting for him, the masked pink guards outside. One of them had nodded before opening the door to the vehicle for him, indicating for him to climb in.

In-ho had done so without protest, slipping into the luxurious vehicle.

As he had guessed, Il-nam had been seated in the vehicle already, looking calm and relaxed, compared to In-ho’s frazzled mind. The old man had smiled, a deceptively warm smile but In-ho wasn’t fooled.

“What do you mean, I have been here before?” He asked, ignoring the slight to his elder by failing to wait for a proper greeting or address in honorifics. Il-nam hadn’t seemed offended, and even gave an amused smile at In-ho’s behaviour.

“I mean what I said. You have been here before.”

“Of course I have. It’s Seoul. I grew up here.” In-ho snapped back.

The old man chuckled, shaking his head slightly.

“You deliberately mis-understand. I mean you have walked this earth before. A different face. A different life but the same person.”

In-ho frowned. Although he wanted answers, he wanted them straight, not riddles for Il-nam’s amusement.

“You are reborn. I saw it in the games. You were a husk then. An empty house waiting for its owner to move in and make it a home. But now, when I look at you…” The man stared deep into In-ho’s eyes. “Hello new friend. I hope you are enjoying your stay here.”

In-ho frowned.

“You are insane.” He stated, reaching for the door. As much as he wanted answers, wanted help to find the westerner who had haunted his dreams, he was not going to put up with this, being made into a joke for the old man. He was no longer in the game and did not have to continue to amuse him.

“If I am insane, then please answer this one last question before you decide to depart.” Il-nam said.

In-ho growled under his breath before turning back to the man, feeling a sudden urge to kill him with his bare hands.

“Fine. And after, you will leave me alone. Never contact me again or ask me to work for you.” He replied, hand still resting on the handle of the door.

Il-nam nodded.

“I have been looking into you. Researching your history, even before you joined my games. You were born and raised in Korea, have never even left the country before. No real experiences of other cultures. So tell me, why have you been speaking fluent French to me this whole time?”

In-ho froze. Quickly, he replayed the conversation in his head.

Il-nam hadn’t been lying. But how? In-ho have never learnt French. Never even had a desire to. And yet, somehow he knew it. Knew it well enough that he had been able to slip into it without trying.

“I can imagine you are very confused, friend. The old part of you trying to understand this new person you are becoming. Two separate people merging into one.” Il-nam said, sliding forward on his seat to better gaze at the younger man. “I want to help you. All I ask is you help me in return. And maybe we can find out who you used to be.”

In-ho had been reluctant at first, unsure about joining forces with the man who had put him through hell but with no other options to get answers, he had finally agreed and entered a world which was both familiar, terrifying and thrilling.

Il-nam had explained the concept. It had been something he had studied over his lifetime, and if he wasn’t lying, something he had been studying over multiple lifetimes. When someone died with unfinished business, they could take on a new body to continue their work. In-ho had been somewhat familiar with the concept. Reincarnation was a fairly common belief in some parts of the country, especially amongst the elderly. But he had always thought it required someone to be reborn into a new infant body. He was an adult, in his early 40s. How could he have gone so long and not known this until now? But Il-nam laughed when he had said as much, explaining that reincarnation required a compatible mind and body, not an age limit.

In-ho had reluctantly accepted the explanation as he continued to explore the idea in between his work, learning how to run the games as per their deal. And to his surprise, he found himself enjoying the work. Having the power of life and death over the lesser pigs. The dregs of society who delighted in harming and abusing each other for small gain. Not worth the title of humans.

The dreams had continued, In-ho and his new mentor working to decipher the information and link it to reality in between planning the next games. And the more they learnt, the more In-ho found himself agreeing. He had been someone else once.

The name the westerner had called him had been the first clue.

‘Hannibal��

It was not a common name in the English speaking world, In-ho had learnt. But there were a few known namesakes. And it wasn’t enough for him to discover who Il-nam thought he was.

The next time a dream had happened, a few days after he had arrived in his new home, thanks to Il-nam’s instructions, In-ho was a little more prepared to take notice of his surroundings. Again, the westerners had been there, but this time they were in a vast, decorative office space. In-ho had gotten used to opulence in the short time he had been Il-nam’s protege but this room, although expensive, was more refined. He had found himself sitting in a comfortable chair, the seat opposite taken by the westerner with the sharp gaze.

Leaning in the chair, In-ho found himself handing a notebook to the man.

“I want you to draw me a clock.” He said in English. The other man, looking haggard, had complied before handing the paper back. The resulting mess on the page, a confusing jumble of squiggles.

In-ho could feel himself smiling as he closed the book, hiding the page away.

“What is your professional diagnosis, Doctor Lecter?” The other man asked. “Am I still fit for duty?”

“I already told Uncle Jack you were.” In-ho replied, crossing his leg over his knee. In his peripheries, he could see that he was wearing high quality and therefore, expensive trousers. Something he was still getting used to, back in the waking world.

“When you rubber stamped me earlier?” The man asked, raising an eyebrow in question. There was a slight air of mockery in his voice, despite the fatigue.

In-ho couldn’t stop his lips turning up in a small smirk.

“I do not remember risking my profession for such an underhanded action.” He stated.

“Of course. Plausible deniability.” The man muttered.

“Or maybe just helping a friend.” In-ho suggested.

The man glanced in his general direction but didn’t meet his eyes. After a moment, he shook his head, as if dislodging a thought.

Somewhere in the distance, an alarm sounded, breaking the silence.

In-ho couldn’t stop the sigh escaping his throat.

“I am afraid we are out of time Will.” he said, reluctantly rising to his feet.

The man followed the action, rising from his own seat and collecting his worn old jacket from the ground beside him.

“Same time next week?” he asked, glancing in In-ho’s direction as he draped the coat over his arm.

“If you wish. You know you are always welcome to come to my home for dinner or even just for a friendly talk off the record.” In-ho said. He stepped forward, casually moving close enough to be what he considered within the other man's personal space but not close enough that the other man could call him out without potentially causing offence.

A sour scent reached his nose. A sickly smell. It was coming from the other man.

“I don’t think that would be appropriate, Doctor Lecter.” The other man stated, standing stiffly, not moving away but his body language showing he was not entirely comfortable with the close presence.

“Nevertheless, the offer is there. Unless Jack Crawford calls for me to assist you again at a scene, we won’t meet again until our next session.”

“Yeah, no offence but that would mean no one died and I happen to think that's a good thing.” The man bit back, a little bit of fire in his voice. It was surprisingly thrilling to hear.

In-ho felt his lips press together to cover an amused smile.

“Of course. I won’t keep you any longer. Until next time, stay safe Will.”

“Bye Hannibal.” The man said before striding out the door, not looking back as it closed behind him.

In-ho stood still for a long moment, watching the door before he turned and grabbed the notebook off the chair where he had left it. He opened the page to the drawing and gazed at it for a moment before tearing the page out.

Walking towards an elaborate desk, he opened a draw and pulled out a folder, slipping the paper inside to join a growing stack of similar images before returning the folder to the draw and locking it. He then glanced at the desk and a rolodex full of cards.

Opening it, he pulled out a card from the collection and slipped it in his pocket before he turned and walked towards the door.

In-ho awoke just as the door swung open, jolting upwards on the comfortable bed in the suite he had been provided by Il-nam.

Immediately, he rose to his feet and made his way to the small office area in the corner where an expensive laptop was set up, trying to hang on to the memories.

He had a name now. Something he could use to try and find out more.

Opening up a search bar, he carefully typed on the unfamiliar keyboard.

‘Doctor Lecter’

Pressing the enter key, he was almost immediately bombarded with hundreds of websites.

He had been deep in research a few hours later when Il-nam had arrived at his door, the old man annoyed he had ignored the summons for dinner.

The other man's annoyance had disappeared as soon as he had noticed the screen displaying a photograph and the pile of hurriedly handwritten notes.

“Oh, you found yourself.” He said, a hint of glee in his voice In-ho wasn’t sure he liked.

“Maybe.” In-ho said reluctantly. He was struggling to find anything to discredit his theory. The information he had gathered on a Doctor Hannibal Lecter, which should have alarmed him, seemed far too familiar.

In-ho had grown up with a younger brother and yet, reading up the Doctor’s history, he suddenly had memories of a sister he had never had. He remembered her murder, the terror of that night as a helpless child tried to survive.

He had never been outside of Korea and yet, he remembered the snow covered forests of Lithuania. The beautiful architecture of Paris and the wild wooded areas of America.

He remembered the deaths. The rude salesmen and solicitors, more pigs than humans. He remembers the artistry, the passion in the kill. And instead of feeling disgusted or sick, he felt pride in it. He remembered the rich, complex taste of the flesh, cooked to perfection and served to his favored guests.

He remembered a man. Broken and twisted and so full of potential. A challenge turned into a fascination and then slowly twisting into a deep love.

His research had corroborated all his feelings, as he read up on the man he now knew he had once been.

Hannibal Lecter. An infamous cannibal serial killer to some. An artist to others. Declared dead in late 2015, after falling off a cliff while on the run. The very night In-ho had his first dream.

And the other man.

In-ho had found that there was a name commonly connected to Lecters. An FBI agent who, according to several articles, had made a deal with the devil to catch other killers.

William Graham.

In-ho didn’t even need to click on the linked pictures the site offered to know this was his western man. The one with the fascinating stare.

In-ho had immediately checked and felt his heart sink as he read of Will’s fate.

Dead. The same day as Hannibal.

The article he had read had painted it as a murder suicide. The FBI agent destroying two serial killers before throwing himself to his own death.

Another article said that Will had been Hannibal's lover and they had thrown themselves off the cliff as some sort of final joining of souls. In-ho had felt something deep in his chest after reading that. Something almost like regret.

So, the man of his dreams was dead. And he…

Who was he?

Was he Hwang In-ho, an indebted game maker and apprentice to a rich man or was he Hannibal Lecter, a notorious serial killer back from the dead?

Was he both? Neither? Or something in between?

Il-nam had watched him in silence and In-ho could guess, the man knew some of his confusion. The old man had mentioned his own struggles with a similar experience as a reincarnated soul.

"Have you figured out your purpose? The reason you are back?" The other man finally asked.

In-ho glanced at the screen once more and the image of Hannibal, of himself, on it.

Will was dead by his own hand. The one person who had fascinated him enough to sacrifice his life for. There was no return unless Will had also been reincarnated and that seemed unlikely. If there was a god, which he doubted, they would never be so kind as to allow him to be rejoined with the other.

But there was a purpose. He had dedicated so much of his life previous to creating art through the punishment of those who offended society.

The games may not have the personal touch of Lecter’s work but they were still a way to get the message across. Still a way to control and take out his anger on the world. For Misha, his little sister. For Will, his beloved.

In-ho didn’t know what his purpose was, or how he would ever join these two separate pieces of himself together but until he figured it out, he could find a purpose.

Being In-ho, the Front Man of the games seemed like as good a start as any.

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Yes, I know I have a problem. It's called 'I can't stop writing every random thought that comes to my head' hence why I made this blog, so I can write random stuff that may or may not make it to my actual fic account.

#my writing #hannibal #hannigram #murder husbands #squid game fanfiction #hannibal fanfiction #squid game #457 #inhun

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