"Hello, Professor." The voice rasped from the recorder. He'd found it on his desk. "You may be wondering who I am, but I assure you that isn't what's important. What's important is who you are, and what I can offer you."
He looked at the recorder. Who had left it here? Why?
"We're going to play a game. Day after day you encounter hundreds of different people. You wield the power to help them succeed in life, or to ultimately send them spiraling down into the rat-hole of mediocrity. You can make them feel important to you, to others, and boost their self-confidence. Or you can turn them against their friends, their peers, and most horrid of all: Themselves."
He'd read about this in the paper, and seen it on the news, but never thought it would happen to him.
"What I have to offer you, Professor, is appreciation. From the students you teach to the life you live, you don't seem to appreciate much."
He picked up the phone and dialed 911, but discovered the line was cut.
"Precautions must be taken, and steps must be watched, Professor Thomason. You've been poisoned, but there is hope. It is a very simple poison, any hospital can give you an antidote, but for now, it would be in your best interest if you were to stay right where you are."
He stopped at the door. If there was more to the riddle, he should hear it. Jigsaw was known for giving hints and clues in his messages.
"There is a warehouse not far from here. You can go to the warehouse and receive the antidote there, or you can risk running to the hospital, pumping the poison further into your veins."
He would have to run. That morning his car was stolen. Now he knew why. The hospital was about five blocks away, to the east. The warehouse, however, was only three blocks away, and to the west.

"You're not allowed to come in contact with anyone aside from the doctors at the hospital or me at the warehouse." The message continued, "For there are more ways to die than one, and poison can be the least of your worries. Will you choose the right answer on this 'test'? Or will the final bell ring before you get to finish? The choice is yours. Good day, Professor, for it may very well be your last."
He grabbed his coat and walked out the door, doing his best to look calm and carefree as he made his way down the school hallways. Why him? What had he done?
"From the students you teach to the life you live, you don't seem to appreciate much."
 What did he know? He was a mass murderer. He wouldn't know what it's like to deal with one hundred kids a day. One hundred wise cracking, smart mouthing, disrespectful kids. If he did, he just killed them. That was, after all, what killers do.
He walked out the school doors and headed west. The warehouse would be his best bet, because then he'd have Jigsaw's fingerprints, description, and location to give to the police afterwards.
It took him about an hour and a half to reach the warehouse, because he was walking, and walking slowly. Every step could be his last, and who knows when or how Jigsaw had given him the poison?
It could have been any number of times or ways. In his food, his water, while he slept… Or yesterday. He thought.
Yesterday he'd gone to the hospital for his monthly check-up, and the doctor recommended a new medicine to relieve stress. Jigsaw could be anyone, including that doctor, and the poison could be anything, including that medicine. He'd only taken one pill, but that would be all it took.
I'll soon find out. He thought as he opened the warehouse door.
"Hello?" He called.
"Hello." A raspy voice answered, "Please, do come in. And shut the door, it's cold outside."
The professor shut the door and took a few steps forward, but stopped, deciding the least amount of movement before he got the antidote would be best.
Jigsaw then proceeded down some metal stairs that had led to a walkway up above. His footsteps echoed as hetook each slow and deliberate step, interrupted every now and then by a very hoarse cough.
He was wearing a black cloak with red linings, his head bent low and the hood pulled over his face as he walked towards the professor. He stopped about five feet away from the professor, reached into his inner pockets, and pulled out a small vile containing a purplish liquid.
He bent down and rolled the glass vile over the dirt floor to the professor, who picked it up eagerly and took out the stopper. He drank the entire thing in one gulp.
"I'm afraid to tell you, Professor," He rasped, "That you were never poisoned."
"What?" The professor dropped the vile in surprise, but quickly bent down to pick it up again. He collapsed, clasping his heart and moaning.
"That was the poison." Jigsaw said as he picked up the empty vile and began to walk away, "I did say, after all, that it would be in your best interest to stay where you were."
"But…" The dying man gasped, "That's not fair!" He was sweating profusely as the poison took its tulle.
"Life's lessons aren't fair." He replied as he began his ascension up the stairs.
The professor gasped as he recognized the irony of this statement: It was what he had told most of his students over the many years he'd taught at that college.
"Life isn't fair," Jigsaw repeated, "And yours has come to an end."