Hey, guys! This was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing, and I'm hoping to make at least a fairly-decent OC fanfic out of it. Saw is my favorite movie of all time, and I thought it would be cool to fill in some of the ever-abundant plot holes (like, where does Jigsaw get all the stuff for his traps?) with this fanfiction. Just be aware that this story will have LOTS AND LOTS of spoilers so, if you haven't seen the movies and want to see them, stop reading now.
Also, I will still be updating my Soul Eater OC story along with this one.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Saw franchise

"Why did you do that?!"
"I'm sorry! I panicked!"
I opened my eyes groggily. I could hear a man and a woman arguing, but my brain was so fuzzy I could barely tell what they were saying.
"God damn it, Jill!" The man yelled. "We can't just have a child on our hands!"
"John, please..." The woman, who I guess was named Jill, sounded scared as she tried to plead with the man. "We can start over. Cecil's dead. That's what you wanted, right? We can just go back to our normal lives."
"Jill..." I was awake enough to sit up and see that the man, John, had a sad and almost regretful look in his eyes. "Jill, it can never go back to the way it used to be. This is what I'm supposed to do. I have to teach people to appreciate what they have."
"Then help me at the clinic!"
"No, Jill," John sighed. "Those people, they aren't learning anything there. They need to know the true feeling of survival."
"That's not true!" For a second, it looked like they were going to start arguing again, but then Jill sighed. "John, I love you, but I can't be with you if you're going to continue doing this." Jill motioned to her right, where I saw a weird contraption involving a chair and knives, and a body tangled in a mass of razor wire. "I was never involved with any of this. As far as you're concerned, we had a divorce before you decided to drive yourself off a cliff." And with that, she left, turning around just once to give John a regretful look.
John turned towards me. "You're awake."
I had finally come to my senses by this time and realized what kind of situation I was in.
"S-st-stay away from me!" I stuttered, pushing myself shakily to my feet.
"I can't promise that I'm not going to hurt you," John said, as calmly as if he was telling me he bought a new pair of shoes. "But, as of right now, I have no intention to."
"That's exactly what a psycho killer would say." I reached into my pocket for my switchblade, but there was nothing in there. I check my other pocket. Nothing. John reached into his pocket, then held out his hand, revealing my switchblade.
"I'm not a killer," he said.
"Then what about that?" I motioned to the body tangled in the razor wire.
"He was missing a vital piece of the human puzzle." John turned towards the body. "The instinct to survive." He turned back towards me. "Do you have what it takes to survive?"
"What is this?" I scoffed. "A test?"
"Don't think of it as a test." He pressed the button on the switchblade and the knife slid out with a small click. "Think of it as a game. Catch." He threw the knife at me, giving it a high arch so I would have time to catch it. Without thinking, I caught it in my right hand by the blade. The blade cut into my hand, but I did nothing except swear under my breath and flip the knife around so that the blade was facing John.
John looked at me thoughtfully. "You live on the streets," he guessed, pointing to my tattered old clothes. "You're in a gang. Nothing is beneath you. Stealing, killing, fighting. You are the lowest of the low."
"I'm one of the toughest people out there," I protested, but John shook his head.
"There's nothing tough about stealing from people who are so much weaker than you are."
I suddenly remember what happened before I woke up here. I felt slightly guilty, but I pushed the thought away. "What are you? A preacher? Is this some twisted form of rehab?"
"Something like that." He paused for a second, then continued his analysis of my character. "You dress like a boy so people won't be hesitant about fighting you because you're a girl."
"You sure do seem to be able to tell me stuff I already know," I sneered, "so why don't you tell me something I don't know? Why am I here?"
"I've already answered that question. I want to know if you have what it takes to survive and, perhaps, to help other people learn the same lesson of survival." John turned around and put his hands up in a surrendering gesture. "Now, you have a choice. You can use that knife in your hand or anything you can find in this room to kill me, or you can help me with my work."
I hesitated. The thing that I knew I should do was kill him, but I've never had to kill someone before, especially like this. Yet I wasn't sure if I really wanted to help him with his "work" either.
"Tell me more about your so-called work before I make a decision," I said.
Instead of answering my question, he said, "Do you have what it takes to survive, Pamela?"
My breath caught in my throat. "How...how do you know my real name?"
John put his hands down and turned back towards me. "You might be familiar with my wife, Jill."
I shook my head slightly. "Doesn't ring a bell."
"Jill Kramer. Although I guess it's Jill Tuck now," he sighed.
Then it hit me. "Jill Kramer? From the Rehab Clinic?"
"Yes. She helped you with your addiction to marijuana. She's told me a lot about you, Puzzle."
That's more like it. My full name is Pamela Zoe Lewis. My initials are PZL, which, when said out loud, sounds like Puzzle, my nickname. Barely anybody knows my real name, and I like to keep it that way.
"Although," he continued, "she never cured you of your addiction to selfishness."
"What are you talking about? I do whatever it takes to survive. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Is stealing from innocent people vital to your survival?"
"Uh, yeah. Unless I want to go hungry." Who does this guy think he is? I thought angrily.
John shook his head disappointedly. "Do you value your life?" He asked, instead of continuing his previous topic.
I laughed cooly. "Not much to value, being a fifteen-year-old without a home but, yeah. I guess I do. Now, tell me about your work and why you want me to help you with it."
"Most people are so ungrateful to be alive," he started. He explained to me how he believed that people only really start appreciating the life they have right before they're about to die. He also told me that he tried to commit suicide by driving his car off a cliff after his wife had a miscarriage and he found out he was dying from cancer. That was the act that started his idea. He found that, as soon as he was about to die, he wanted to make the most of the life he had left.
"I know the feeling," I mumbled. "I tried to commit suicide by cutting my wrists after my mom died and my dad became a drunk." The experience, though mentally scarring at the time, didn't bother me anymore. I like to learn from my mistakes and move on.
"So you understand the feeling of survival?" He asked.
"Yes."
"Now, you're actually here by mistake," he said, "but I think this mistake has benefited both of us. My wife accidentally injected you with a drug that was meant for Cecil when you tried to attack her."
I grimaced, remembering the incident clearly. I was at some festival, and I desperately needed money for food. I just grabbed the first purse I saw. "Is that Cecil?" I asked, nodding at the corpse tangled in the wire.
"Yes."
"He must be here for a reason. What did he do?"
"He killed my unborn child by causing my wife to have a miscarriage," he growled.
"So you killed him?"
"No. I still gave him a chance to survive, but for a price."
"What was the price?" I can't say I was loving what this man was saying, but I was intrigued by the idea of his "work". To me, it made sense.
"He had to cut his face." John walked over to the chair and started telling me how it worked. Cecil was bound to the chair and a wall of knives were placed in front of his face. If he could push his face through the knives, his restraints would release him. It was overall a clever design.
"How did he end up in there?" I asked, pointing to the razor wire.
"The restraints broke," John said. "He tried to attack me and got himself tangled in there."
I walked over to the body of Cecil. "So he was, how did you put it? Missing a vital piece of the human puzzle?"
John nodded.
"So tell me why you need me again?"
"You are one of the few people who would understand my work," he explained, "and you live on the streets. You know a lot about the daily lives of people who live here. You know more than I would ever know."
"So you need me to, what, single out the victims?"
"Ultimately, yes."
I considered this for awhile. Then I said, "you would need a way to disguise yourself and your voice, so that if they survive the trap, they can't turn you in to the police."
John looked at me thoughtfully as I continued.
"You'll also need to start with people who really have given up on life. You know, drug addicts, suicidal people, the like. You can't just grab any random bystander off the street and put them in a fight for their survival. And the traps should actually put them in a situation where they're going to die if they don't 'pay the price'."
"So will you help me?" John asked. I nodded and turned back to Cecil.
"When the police find this, they'll want to know who did it and why. We need a way to let them know that he was missing the instinct for survival." I just realized that I was still holding my knife. And that my hand was stinging and dripping blood. I walked over to Cecil's body and cleaned knife on my shirt before I started cutting into his skin. "The police will think it's a calling card, but you and I will know its real meaning." I peeled off the skin and stepped back. It wasn't perfect, but you could clearly see a puzzle piece gouged into Cecil's skin. I turned to John, who I saw was smiling at my work.
"Perfect," he said. He turned to me. "We'd better go before the police find this. Do you know where we could go?"
I nodded. "I know an abandoned warehouse we could go to. Nobody ever goes there besides a maintenance man who's supposed to check up on the place every couple of months. He never does anymore, though. He usually just comes once or twice a year."
It took about two hours to gather up all of the necessary supplies and move to the warehouse. It was fairly large, completely abandoned, and a perfect place to start our work.
And thus began my apprenticeship to the famous Jigsaw Killer.

So what did you think? I know it's a short chapter, but I'm hoping to make them longer as I go on. This is more of a test chapter to see if this story will work. Please review and keep on reading!