The Defense Attorney

"Ugh," a man in a dark area groaned as he woke up. He looked around, trying to identify this unfamiliar location. He felt the cold air around him and wrapped his arms together, rubbing them together in vain as an attempt to achieve warmth. He heard the rattling of chains from when he was rubbing his arms together, he wondered where it came from. Then he felt the feeling of cold metal wrapped around his wrists. The same feeling was also wrapped around his neck. He had a feeling that they were restraints of some sort.

Just then, fluorescent lights began to flicker on, filling the dark space with light. The man used his restrained hands to block the light. It took him a minute to get used to it. He looked around him to see three other men lying on the floor. He wasn't sure if they were alive or dead. Then he turned his attention to what was wrapped around his wrists and neck. They were shackles of some sort with razor blades attached to them. Realizing the situation he was in, the man opened his mouth to let a horrifying scream fill the cold room. He was kidnapped, but for what reason he wondered. He was so scared that he couldn't think rationally. After a while, he allowed himself a moment to take a few deep breaths and think about what was going on. He looked around him. He knew that it was colder than it should be, there was ice hanging from the ceiling and a metal door with a small, frosted window pane of some sort on it. From this information, he deduced that he was in a freezer. But what would someone want with him? He was only a simple defense attorney.

Then his attention was brought to an old-fashioned television set in the corner. Just then, it flickered on to show a puppet dressed in a monkey suit. It had red swirls on it's cheeks, coal-black eyes, and coarse black hair. Then it began to speak, "Hello Bob." The man now identified as Bob shuddered as this puppet said his name. "You don't know me, but I know you. I wanna play a game." For Bob, he had a feeling he heard something like this before. He remembered from the news stories about the Jigsaw Killer, and now, he was a part of this 'game.' "No," said Bob, "It can't be, you're dead."

"By now, I'm sure you are aware of who I am, but I am not the actual Jigsaw. But even though he is dead, his games live on through us. Now about you, Bob. You own the occupation of a defense attorney and have a perfect win record, something which you do not deserve. You go to great lengths to try to prove your clients innocent, you pull the dirtiest tricks in the book, hide incriminating evidence from the court, and even forge evidence to pin the blame on innocent people, even though you know that your clients are guilty, all so you can maintain your perfect win record and make money off of it. That is something that I find just plain wrong."

Bob wondered how someone like this could know so much about him. "As you can see you are bound by shackles which are bolted to the wall. You may recognize the three men you see lying on the ground, they're still alive... for now. They are clients which you have defended before. The first man is a human trafficker, whom you have gotten an acquittal by planting evidence on an innocent man, leaving him to rot in prison. The second man is a serial rapist, whom you have also gotten an acquittal by hiding decisive evidence from the court and forging more evidence, making everyone think that all the women he raped were his old girlfriends who have formed an alliance against him by lying to the court, also making the court think they wanted revenge against him for cheating on him, therefore putting those innocent women away when they are suffering at the hands of that man. And the third man, an axe murderer, who has brutally murdered an entire family celebrating a reunion, whom you have once again gotten an acquittal by pleading 'temporary insanity.' You knew that these men were guilty for their crimes, but you cared more about your perfect win record and making a quick buck than seeing them get what they deserve. You knew that letting them back on the streets would give them the chance to continue what hey do, and they took that chance that you gave them. They make others suffer, because you let them. You don't care who they are, just as long as you get a not guilty verdict and their money, you never consider the innocent."

Bob felt the guilt of all he has done crash down on him. He had never felt a single shred of guilt of getting these evil men off the hook until today. He knew what he did was wrong, but he still did it, all for the sake of his name and money. "I know that you feel guilty now," the killer continued, "but I have given you the chance to redeem yourself by putting these men in their place. There is a key to your shackles within each of these men, they are in the same location as to where your shackles are." Bob looked at his wrists, and then put his hands on the back of his head. "You will have to cut the key out of the locations of where your shackles are and in order. I've made the first chain of your shackles long enough for you to reach the first person, the second chain long enough for you to reach the second, and... well you get the idea. You will be using a scalpel to cut the keys out of them."

Bob looked around him in search of the scalpel. He looked to the right to find the small knife laying on the ground a few inches away from him. Bob got on his feet, crouched down, and picked it up. "They will die if you do not interfere, but at least they'll be getting what they truly deserve. You will have twenty minutes to get out of here, or the steel door you see will be locked forever and you will be left here to rot with your fellow inmates. The time will start when this video ends. Today, we will find out if you are one of them or not. Live or die, Bob. The choice is yours." Then the screen went blank.

Bob turned his attention to a digital timer attached to the door. It counted down from twenty minutes. "You son of a bitch!" Bob yelled at the TV screen in vain. "Let me outta here," he continued to yell, "Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!" He continued to scream for help, but nobody answered. He looked back at the clock to see that the clock was counting down from eighteen minutes. "Shit," he shouted when he realized he just wasted two minutes when he could have used those valuable minutes to escape. Knowing he had to act fast, Bob attempted to make a run for the door, but the shackle on his left wrist kept him from going past the first man.

Realizing that trying to go for the exit would be in vain, Bob crouched down to examine the man on the floor. Like the other men, he was stripped down to his underwear so that he would have to endure the cold of the freezer and lying down unconscious. He had a slim build, and had short brown hair. Bob recognized him as one of the many clients he had defended in the past. He was accused of being a human trafficker, which he confessed to Bob was true. Bob however, was able to get him out by putting the blame on the man's best friend since grade school, whom knew nothing about what he was doing. Bob told him that it would be a sacrifice he would have to make if he were to stay out of prison.

Guilt had once again overshadowed Bob, for he was only thinking of his perfect win record and keeping his job when he let this man's best friend take his place only to be guaranteed that this man would continue his line of work, which he did, imprisoning women in tiny cells and be broken down so he could sell them for sexual slavery. He beat them, raped them, and even killed them if they refused to work for him. The dead bodies were never found, but this man revealed all this to Bob in a confession. Bob knew he was guilty, but he didn't care, as long as the man was paying him to defend him, he would go all the way to prove the guilty party's innocence. Now he was going to kill this man in order to save his own life. Bob looked at his own wrist, then the man's. He noticed the indent of a key in the man's wrist. Bob turned his attention to the scalpel in his hand, then to the man's wrist. He wondered if he could actually go through with this. Then he looked the timer. Fourteen minutes left, at this point, Bob didn't have much of a choice, it was either kill or die.

With some hesitation, Bob tightly closed his eyes and slid the edge of the scalpel across the man's wrist. As blood seeped out of the man, Bob inserted his fingers into the wound and pulled out the first key. He looked back at the man, blood continued to pour out of him. Bob could only think of one word, "Murderer." He couldn't believe that this man was dying, and it was because of him. He wondered how he could stop it. Then an idea popped into his head as he looked at his clothes. Bob quickly began to take off his coat and he wrapped it around the man's wrist, applying pressure to it so the blood would stop flowing. Bob felt much colder because he took off his jacket but he didn't care, he knew that this man was going to live if Bob got out of there alive. He picked up the small key off the floor and unlocked the first restraint. It fell to the floor as Bob took it off.

Bob walked over to the next man, another who he was quite familiar with. He too was defended by the great Bob Saunders. He had long blonde hair, an average build, and sported a goatee. He was rightfully accused of raping several women across the city. He even impregnated two of them, sometimes he would make some of the women that he raped look like they committed suicide because they got defensive with him. This man wasn't afraid of anything, and the only thing to keep him satisfied was the flesh of these innocent women. Bob knew this man was guilty, but again he had to consider his perfect win record. So Bob forged enough evidence to make these women look like they were lying because they hated this man. As a result, these women who were already suffering were sentenced to jail, even the pregnant ones, where they would suffer even more.

Bob knew he had to act fast, because he only had eleven minutes left. He took ahold of the man's right wrist and he carefully slid the edge of the sharp scalpel over the indent of the key, blood pouring out as the wound opened up. Bob carefully dug into the man's wrist in search for the small key and pulled it out of him. He looked at what piece of clothing to use next and looked at his necktie. He untied it from his neck and bandaged it around the man's bleeding wrist, applying pressure to it to stop the bloodflow. Bob took the key and unlocked the other shackle bounding his wrist.

Finally, he moved on to the last man, someone Bob would find impossible to forget, for he also defended this man and got an acquittal for him. This man had a shaved head, and a large, muscular build, almost like a giant. Out of all the three convicts in the room, this man was without a doubt the worst of all of them. This man was rightfully accused of killing an innocent family at a reunion, with an axe. Bob absolutely knew this man was guilty, and there was no way around it, but the man way able to pay him a rather handsome sum of money, one million dollars. He could afford someone like Bob because he was a drug lord. This man was obviously the worst kind of scum there ever was, if not for the consideration of Bob's perfect record, he would have wanted this man to go to hell where he belongs. But, he took him on anyway, and he was able to plant enough evidence (including the defendant's drugs) to convince the court that the man had killed the family while he was high on his own drugs. In the end, the jury had unanimously decided to give him a not guilty verdict. After that, the man still continued to sell drugs and commit murder. He would even put some kind of poison on some of his clients paraphernalia whenever they didn't pay, he even began blackmailing some of his clients, including some members of the police force, so that he could get away with any crime he committed. Some of the people who were under his power committed suicide after they couldn't pay.

There were only nine minutes left on the clock before the door would close forever. Bob put his hands on the shackle surrounding his neck and knew that this time, there wouldn't be a wrist that he would have to cut. This time he had to cut somewhere around the man's neck. Bob put his hands around the man's neck in order to feel him for the key. Bob felt the key imbeded in the back of the man's neck then rolled his heavy body over on his stomach so he could perform this procedure better. He carefully made an incision over the area where the key was imbeded, blood had began to seep out of the incision. Bob carefully opened up the wound as not to strike anything important, and pulled out the metal key. As more blood seeped out, Bob quickly unbuttoned his plain white shirt and wrapped it around the man's neck. Bob felt more cold than he ever had in his life, but he felt much better to know that he would live as he unlocked the final shackle. He looked at the clock, only five minutes to spare. He looked back at the men. He promised himself that he would call for help and make sure these men lived, even if they didn't deserve it.

Bob made a run for the door. "Hehehe, I beat your game Jigsaw, who's laughing now, huh?" Bob shouted. He pulled back on the handle and opened the door to his freedom. But just as he was leaving, the sound a gunshot emanated from the hallway and the bullet coming from that sound pierced Bob's left shoulder, causing excruciating pain. He stumbled back into the room and fell on his back. He screamed in pain from the gunshot and sat up to confront his shooter. Footsteps were heard approaching him. A man wearing a dark cloak with a hood shrouding his face had appeared before him, wielding a revolver pointed at Bob. "I don't believe this is a laughing matter, Bob," the cloaked figure said. "What the hell," cried Bob, "I won, I beat you." "You cheated," the figure responded, "Just like every other case, only this time, you are in my courtroom, and I don't tolerate cheaters." Just then, he pulled over his hood and revealed his face to Bob. He was revealed to be a teenager, at least seventeen years of age. He had a pair of blue orbs, a stony face, and long blonde hair, almost enough to cover his eyes and had a couple curls in the back. Bob was astounded by this, "new Jigsaw" especially being the age he is.

"You're Jigsaw? But you're just a kid-" Jigsaw fired at him, just barely missing his groin. "It matters not the form I take, I am still the judge in your case," said Jigsaw in a harsh voice. "M-my case?" Questioned Bob. "Yes, your case. And I find you guilty. You have failed your test, no matter what, you still protect the men, no matter what, only because you think of no one but yourself. If you'd have let them die, you would have won, but you still defend the wrong kind of people. You don't even deserve to be called a defense attorney. In fact, you are no better than the men you defend, letting them loose on the street instead of getting what they deserve. " "That's not true-" "Silence! You are correct Bob, it isn't true, not only you you care about yourself, but you do it all for one other thing." Jigsaw pulled out a carrier bag and unzipped it with a gloved hand. He began to pour out hundreds, maybe thousands of hundred-dollar bills onto the floor. "Is that..." "Yes, it's all the money you've earned from the cases you should have never won, but here, it won't make a difference how you spend it, it's useless." He kicked at the pile of money like a pile of raked leaves in autumn over at Bob. He turned around and headed straight for the door.

Bob quickly got up, bracing himself from the pain of Jigsaw's gunshot. He tried to run over to attack Jigsaw, but he quickly turned around to fire another blow at Bob, it hit him right in his other shoulder, where blood splattered out of it on impact and caused Bob to once again fall to the floor and wince in incredible pain. "It's unbelievable what people do to make money, they cause others to suffer, commit acts of evil, and in your case, release people which the world would rather be without born, including you." Jigsaw walked over to the timer which was still ticking down and was at three minutes. Jigsaw adjusted the timer to make it go down to ten seconds. Jigsaw went out the door and turned back to Bob. "Game over," was the last thing he said to him as he slammed the door behind him. As Bob got up, writhing in pain, he made a run for the door. As he grabbed the handle, the timer went down to zero and the sound of the door being lock, echoed throughout the room.

Bob quickly pressed his face against the window. "Nooooo," he screamed, "Nooooo! Please! Don't leave me! Noooo!" Jigsaw simply looked back at the door to see what had become of Bob Saunders, a rather pathetic sight. Right then and there, Bob would have changed everything about his ways for the better, but it was too late, the doors were now permanently locked, it was all over. Jigsaw simply looked away, putting his hood back on and ignoring Bob's screams. He didn't deserve any of Jigsaw's sympathy, he got exactly what he deserved, being in a prison with the rest of his cellmates, who would eventually die from blood loss, soon Bob would have nothing, nothing would matter anymore, the entire pile of money, the dead bodies which he could possibly use for food, even life itself wouldn't matter anymore. Eventually he would realize that screaming wouldn't help him at all, since this was an abandoned building, and if someone does find him, it would be too late, he would have already died of blood loss from his wounds, starvation if he could eat the bodies of his dead cellmates, or even hypothermia since he was in a freezer. And even if he managed to survive the cold, the loneliness, isolation, and having lost everything would eventually cause him to go suicidal. The room was almost empty and the walls were to hard, so trying to escape was out of the question. In the end, Bob got exactly wat he deserved. He was finally in prison for letting people just like his dead cellmates destroy everything in their path. Prisons are meant to make sure that it leaves behind a world without these kinds of people, and that includes Bob Saunders.

GAME OVER