Suddenly his vision was assaulted by the vibrant glare of a fluorescent light. The light flickered on and off, a slight buzzing noise resounded from the electrical current flowing through it. He viewed his surroundings and saw that he was bound to a chair in an abandoned industrial building.
He began to let out bellows of laughter, realizing exactly what this was. He'd become a player to his own game.
"John Kramer," a gravelly voice boomed from behind him.
The man with whom the voice belonged to stepped into view. He was tall, muscular, with slicked jet black hair. He was dressed in all black, his wide form cloaked by a trench coat.
"To whom do I owe the pleasure," John said.
The man only have him a steely glare.
"You're responsible for countless deaths, through torturous means. You've done horrible things and you carry no remorse. The lives you've ruined, the lives you've taken. Children orphaned. Men and women widowed, yet you remain proud. Proud of this sadistic shit you call your life's work. You really are one sick motherfucker."
"Tell me, do you appreciate life?"
"Not since sick fucks like you took mine from me."
John smiled, the taste of blood filling his mouth from the wound he had received on his head as a result of his abduction.
"I want to play a game."
The man took off his trench coat, revealing underneath a black tactical vest with a white skull painted on it. He grabbed a rusty pipe from the floor and brandished it at him.
"Game over," he said as he swung the pipe.