AN: This is my first saw fic, so go easy on me. Would love any feedback or advice you could offer.
Hello Chuck, I want to play a game. You have lived your life hunting, but it is not deer you set your scope on. Instead you became fixated on a different kind of prey. The violation of others has caused you arousal, so now it is your turn to suffer a similar fate. In front of your left foot is a lever that will close the blade around your wrists, claiming the hands you use for cruel deeds. In front of your right foot is a lever that will close the blade around your penis, taking the masculinity that you have abused. In thirty seconds, if a choice is not made, the two sets of blades will both be closed, along with a third set around your throat. Losing your head— you should know what that will do. Live or die, Chuck. Make your choice. The clock is ticking.
Chuck Mitchell couldn't focus. He was in an entirely white room, bound to the floor by a chain. His last memory was of someone in a horrific mask modeled after a pig grabbing him and jamming a needle into his thigh. When he woke up, he was in a foreign room with only the ceiling to look at.
In front of your left foot is a lever that will close the blade around your wrists, claiming the hands you use for cruel deeds.
The threatening words had seemed to manifest from thin air, preceded and punctuated by radio static. As soon as the noise had faded, he pressed his left foot forward. He felt a wire snap and instantly began hearing the sound of a timer counting down. Two circular blades began to close around his wrists, tearing into his flesh.
Chuck yanked his foot back, screaming out in pain. He could feel blood dripping from the wounds and the sting of the blades still bit at his flesh, even though the blades had retracted. "Shit!" he shouted, his fingers trembling. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
In front of your right foot is a lever that will close the blade around your penis, taking the masculinity that you have abused.
He didn't dare try to push his right foot forward, instead biting down on the inside of his lip and pressing against the left blade again. The pain was intolerable, the blade biting into him again. He groaned and tried to inch the lever forward until he could hear it grating against his bone.
He released the lever again, trying to take a momentary reprieve while the blades relaxed. Chuck laid like that, chewing the inside of his lips and groaning in pain. He was about to press the lever again when the timer stopped ticking.
The blade around his penis closed, all at once, severing the extremity. Chuck screamed in pain, bucking his hips and throwing his legs around wildly. The blades around his wrists closed, finishing the job he had started in one fluid motion. Another scream escaped Chuck's lips and tears of agony rolled down his cheek.
Along with a third set around your throat.
"No," Chuck whispered with the realization. He rolled his neck from side to side as if that would deter the blades. "Please no!" he shouted, crying. But his pleas went unanswered and the next moment he was dead, the blade slicing through his neck like butter.
Doctor Lawrence Gordon stared at the television monitor, studying the scene that had just unfolded. "Well Mark," he said with a smirk, "it looks like one of your traps was actually worth using."
