SAW: OUTLAW

by Ulquiorra9000

A/N: Some of the traps in this series may be kinda similar to those in the canon Saw movies, but I'll do what I can to make these original. Enjoy!

TRAP ONE: The Sheriff

Sheriff Richard Simmons put up his booted feet on his creaky wooden desk, drawing in on his cheap cigarette and sighing the smoke back out. The sun was setting, throwing its warm orange light into his office through the half-shuttered windows, glowing on the small bookshelf, dusty picture frames, and most importantly, the yellowed "wanted" posters on the rough wooden walls. Richard, who was starting to feel his advanced age, ran a hand through his graying hair and squinted with contempt at the pictures of outlawed men and women on those posters.

Many of 'em are worth a good chunk of cash, but none as much as that last one, Richard mused, his eyes drifting to the last poster of a man worth a staggering $5 million. The poster had the man's only known photograph, a male in his mid-50's who had intense eyes, light gray hair, and a puckered, V-shaped mouth. He was John Kramer, better known as the Jigsaw Killer. Richard pursed his lips and drew in on his cigarette again, thinking of how badly he wanted to capture and beat the living hell out of that devil before giving him a good old-fashioned public hanging.

Ever since losing his wife Rebecca, Richard had started a downward spiral in his duty overseeing this shabby Western town, savagely beating criminals and outlaws to vent his frustration and anger and try to and fill his empty heart. None of it worked. Sheriff Richard felt as empty as ever... and the Jigsaw Killer roamed loose, he and his outlaw gang rounding up innocent victims and placing them in brutal life or death traps.

"Pffft. I'm getting too old for this," Richard spat, lowering his feet and standing up, picking at a spot on his itchy black and red-checkered shirt. He stomped over to his hat stand, his boot spurs clinking with every step. Placing his leather hat on his head, Richard sighed and headed to the door to go home, trying to decide whether to stop by the tavern on the way. Hell, he probably would.

Someone was outside the sheriff's office to greet him, a tough-looking man that Richard didn't recognize. Richard tipped his hat a little, giving a terse hello. "Hey. You new 'round these parts?"

"I sure am," the man nodded, concern in his voice. He gestured to the office door. "I'd like to talk 'bout it in private, if that sits well with you."

Richard nodded and led the man inside, closing the door behind him. "What is it?"

"I'm a bounty hunter, and I've been looking for Wild-Eye Morgan, who was seen around here recently. Could I see your papers about her?"

"Yeah," Richard warily agreed, "but only I get to rifle through my desk's papers, you hear? I'll bring them to you. Follow me."

"Fine," the bounty hunter agreed, and accompanied Richard to his desk like a shadow.

"Mind if you give me some personal space?" Richard demanded, bending over to slide open a drawer and shuffle through the papers. He didn't see the bounty hunter slowly un-holster his revolver and raise it.

"Oh, you'll have some time yourself very soon, all right," the bounty hunter smirked, then taking Richard by surprise, raised his revolver and smashed the top of the sheriff's head with the butt, knocking him out cold.

*o*o*o*o*

Groaning, and aware of a throbbing pain on the top of his head, Richard blinked and opened his eyes wide, then involuntarily gasped and twitched, not recognizing his surroundings or how he got here. He was sitting upright in a simple wooden chair in a small room, barely six feet high and eight feet wide, but about fifteen feet long. He was seated at one end, and there was a closed wooden door at the other end. What in blazes...? Richard frowned and bolted to his feet, first looking up at the single lit kerosene lantern hanging from the ceiling, then down at his feet.

There was the clink of chains as Richard stood, and he saw a thick iron cuff around each of his ankles, pinching into the fabric of his jeans. The cuffs were chained to the floor on thick metal pegs, keeping Richard in place. Grunting, Richard kicked out with his right leg to tear out the foot-and-a-half long chain, but the stubborn metal refused to yield, stretching taut but not granting him freedom. Panic rising in his throat, Richard panted with fear as he kicked out with his left leg, but the left chain didn't break, either. Gritting his teeth, Richard walked as close to the wall as the chains permitted and banged his fists on the walls, screaming. "Help! Someone help me! Who the hell did this? Hey!"

There was no verbal answer, but the wooden door crashed open, revealing the dark desert night outside. A single man stood silhouetted in the door frame, and Richard stopped cold, feeling an aura of menace coming from this newcomer. He sank back to the chair and settled onto it, his chest heaving as he stared down the newcomer. "Who... what?"

"Hello, Sheriff," the newcomer responded in a chilling, hoarse whisper. "I want to play a game."

Richard groaned, rolling his eyes. "If this is yer idea of a prank, I'll catch your ass and give you a good punishing! You hear me? I'm the sheriff of my town! People will miss me!" He raised his voice as he spoke, fear and anger mingling. The newcomer only chuckled.

"You don't know me, Sheriff Simmons, but I know you," the man went on. He wore a cowboy hat and a cloth over his mouth, both of which were revealed as he stepped closer to the lamp's light. "Ever since the death of your wife, you cursed the fates that took her away from you and tried to fill the void by beating outlaws in your burning sense of justice. I can see it, Richard... every day is empty monotony for you, and you cannot even discover life's simple joys for yourself. Tonight, we will find out just how much you really care about yourself."

Recognition and dread crept up in Richard's gut. His eyes bugged out. "You... yer the Jigsaw Killer! That man who approached me and knocked me out..."

"One of my assistants, yes," Jigsaw, or John, nodded. "I don't care about Wild-Eye Morgan, I care about this. You and your life." He spread his arms wide to encompass it all.

Richard spat on the ground. "Fine, I believe you. Now what in blazes do you want me to do?"

In response, John produced a stick of dynamite, making Richard's breath catch in his throat. "Unless you can free yourself in time, Richard, you will experience the fires of punishment for your stubborn refusal to live properly. There are two keys for your shackles, each different from the other. One for the left, one for the right. Get them, or die trying, Richard."

With that, John struck a match and lit the long fuse of the dynamite and set it down just outside Richard's reach. John backed up, his eyes flashing malice as he made eye contact with the terrified sheriff. "Live or die, make your choice."

"You... bastard! You dirty outlaw! Let me out of here! Now!" Richard exploded, but Jigsaw only chuckled again and exited the room, closing the door behind himself but not locking it. Richard was left alone, only with a live stick of dynamite for company. He stared at it, judging from the size of the stick that he would die from its fire unless he escaped this shack and fled.

Gulping, Richard looked this way and that, trying to find his way out. He was too far away from the dynamite to blow or stomp out its lit fuse, so he needed another way out... if there was one! Maybe Jigsaw had lied about there being keys? Then, the answer appeared: two little shelves, one on each of Richard's sides and well within reach.

Richard stared at the left shelf. A simple bear trap had been bolted onto the shelf, held wide open with its metal teeth just waiting to bite down. A key lay just under the delicate trigger plate, tantalizingly close.

Richard gulped, staring in horror at the waiting trap while listening to the hiss of the lit fuse counting down to his fiery death. I... I gotta reach into the trap and get that key! Criminy, but that trap looks custom-made. No way can I touch that key without setting the trap off! I could lose my wrist to that bastard Jigsaw! He whipped his head to the right and saw an identical shelf and bear trap, with a different-shaped key in the trap. He had no choice... either brave the trap jaws, or get blown to ashes.

Kicking aside the chair with a clatter, Richard approached the left bear trap shelf, clenching his teeth. He tried to kick free his left leg's shackle, but the chain was as resolute as ever. Taking a deep breath and praying for strength and agility, Richard drifted his trembling hand toward the bear trap, grimacing with the willpower needed to stick his hand into a notorious trap. His hand hovered before the trap, but he glanced at the dynamite and saw how little fuse was left. Now, or never!

"Grrraaah!" Richard thrust his hand into the trap and seized the key in his triumphant fingers, but before he could withdraw, his clumsy hand pressed against the trap's round panel and the the trap snapped shut, white-hot pain surging in Richard's arm as the iron teeth clamped onto his fleshy wrist, drawing streams of bright red blood. He lost his grip on the key and tugged at the trap, but his arm didn't come free.

That thing was more delicate than I thought! The slightest pressure set it off. Richard couldn't believe his luck. Panting from the hideous pain, he seized the trap's upper jaw with his right hand, straining against the device's springs. Fueled by adrenaline, Richard got the trap's upper jaw up with trembling fingers and grabbed the key again with his left arm, then pulled the key out.

"Damn it!" Richard cursed, hot blood leaking from the punctures on his throbbing wrist. He wanted to tear his shirt and bind the wound, but there was no time... the dynamite's fuse sizzled on. Richard knelt and fumbled to get the key into his left shackle, then turned it and the cuff dutifully popped open. Crying out in victory, he pulled out the key and thrust it into the right cuff, but the key only got halfway through the cuff's keyhole. True to Jigsaw's word, only the right bear trap's key would open the cuff.

Furious, Richard threw away the left key, letting it clatter across the wooden floor. He tried to reach the dynamite with one leg free, but he was held back by his right chain, a grim reminder that this game was only half-done so far. The dynamite's fuse was three-quarters gone now, horribly close to the stick. Sucking in a deep breath, Richard stepped over to the other bear trap and raised his unharmed hand to get the key, then realized the nature of this trap. I used these two hands to beat the living daylights out of all those outlaws, and now Jigsaw wants me to hurt those hands in retribution! You've got style, Jigsaw, if nothing else.

There was no time to waste. The hiss of the fuse seemed deafening, but didn't quite drown out the sound of blood pounding in Richard's ears. He thrust his hand into the remaining bear trap and took hold of the waiting key, and the bear trap slammed shut on his wrist, forcing Richard to clench his teeth and hold back a shout. He seized the upper jaw to wrench it open like with the other trap, but his hand was slick with blood and made it difficult to get a good grip. Meanwhile, the fuse's spark drew within inches of the dynamite body.

No... not this close to freedom... "NO!" he bellowed the word, and worked his fingers under the trap's teeth, prying the jaw up with a burst of strength. Now feeling light-headed from the mix of terror, adrenaline, and increasing blood loss, Richard withdrew his right hand and knelt again, bringing the key close to the right cuff's keyhole. Blood slid onto his hand and onto his fingers, making the key grow slick in his grip. Richard tried to to slip the key into the cuff, but the blood made it slippery and the key fell to the floor. Beyond cursing, Richard used his less-bloody left hand to take the key and jam it key into the cuff's hole, then twisted it. The cuff snapped right open, relieving the pressure on Richard's right leg.

There was nothing else for it; Richard stood up and shakily ran the length of the death shack, bolting into the fresh night air as his booted feet stomped on the desert ground, leaving the hated wooden building behind. He realized that the shack had been built on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere, and the dynamite could go off any second. Richard dived, tumbling his way down the hill, ignoring the pokes of sharp rocks and stiff desert plants along the way. Sure enough, there was an ear-shattering boom and flash of light as the dynamite ignited, and Richard covered his face with his bloody hands to block out the flash in the dark night. As soon as he tumbled to a halt, he simply lay there, sobbing and groaning in the dark night as pain throbbed in his wrists with every heartbeat. It was agony... but he was alive. Very much alive.

"There! I did it! I beat you, Jigsaw! I'm justice, you hear me?" Richard threw back his head and shouted but there was no one to hear it, only the flaming remains of the shack on the hill. There was a frightened whinny, and Richard jolted, stunned by the new presence. He whipped around, but there was only a saddled horse standing there, its eyes radiating fear from the explosion. Richard sighed and laughed to himself. He approached the horse and saw a piece of paper resting on the saddle along with a roll of bandages. After wrapping up his wounds, Richard took the paper note and held it to his eyes, reading it by the moonlight.

Congratulations. You're still alive. You used to resent your very life, the world that had been so cruel to you, but not anymore.

There was a little drawing of a puzzle piece at the bottom of the paper, almost like a signature. Glaring at the paper, Richard crumpled it in one hand and tossed it onto the ground, then mounted the horse. He pressed his heels to the animal's sides and it set off at a brisk gallop across the quiet desert. Richard's mind, however, was anything but quiet. I'll say it again, Jigsaw. You won't get away with this! I'll find you... and I'll bring you to justice. This ain't over yet.