SAW I.V
"Rise and shine, Adam. You're probably wondering where you are. I'll tell you where you might be. You might be in the room that you die in. Up until now you've simply sat in the shadows, watching others live out their lives. But what do voyeurs see when they look in the mirror? Now, I see you as a strange mix of someone angry, yet apathetic, but mostly just pathetic. So are you going to watch yourself die today, Adam, or do something about it?"
Adam; still shackled on the opposite side of the room, still wounded from the bullet in his shoulder, still shocked by the fact that the dead man in the middle of the room is walking fine, still watching in fear as the door to the bathroom slammed shut leaving him alone in the darkness…
Lawrence Gordon, the doctor shackled on the other side of the room had recently severed his own leg in order to "go for help". The state he left the room in didn't give Adam high hope of his inevitable freedom. It had only been at least ten minutes and he was already starting to miss the sound of the doctor's voice. There was nothing Adam could do but sit and wait until anyone returned for him. He started to wonder how anyone would know where he was, because he sure-the-fuck didn't. The last words he heard are still running through his mind: "Game Over."
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Eric Matthews had recently put away many criminals for crimes he knows they didn't commit. The person he would really get a kick out of locking away is Jigsaw, the media-famous killer who has never actually murdered anyone, he finds ways for his victims to kill themselves even though he still offers them there freedom if they succeed. It's only been since the media started to interfere that more and more cases regarding the jigsaw killer have started appearing. He remembers the last victim rather well, vividly in fact.
"Hello Jason, I want to play a game. It has grown more and more apparent that your involvement with drugs has become more than business to you, an, obsession if you will. I would like to show you my obsession. I believe that too many people, walk through life without any hint of doubt for the well-being of themselves and those around. They take life for granted and walk through it in a carefree manner without taking the consequences seriously. You have been to prison too many times to go unnoticed by me and so I want to show you, just how lethal an injection can be. There are three needles in front of you, each with a different venom inside them. Your game is simple, find the right combination of venom's and you will be released. Choose wisely Jason, the wrong combination will cause you to bleed from within and you will most surely die. Move quickly or the already existent venom within your body will kill you. Think carefully Jason, the combination is at the back of your mind. Live or die, Jason. Make your choice."
Jason Mannersfield, died trying to escape this trap. If he had only turned around he would have noticed the combination on a mirror behind him. Matthews remembers the look of horror on Jason's face. So scared, so lonely and afraid. Matthews like most, would think it would be so simple, but he wasn't in Jason's position, he doesn't know what it is like to be tested, to be part of Jigsaw's game.
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Ricky was well known within the office as the man who is going to uncover Jigsaw's identity. Even if that means being part of his games. Ricky was, put simply, obsessed with his work. Obsessed with once and for all catching the elusive Jigsaw. He was a media journalist, a corrupt one at that. All he saw was the story and the heart of the article, but he never saw who was affected by his corrupt news. Jigsaw was one of these people, someone who was given a false image. He didn't like it, he didn't like it at all. It was time to bring in Ricky, to show him what his work was actually about…
Finishing late at the office, Ricky took a long, calming ride back to his so-so apartment. Opening his rusting front door, the smell of last night's Chinese food and beer lifted into the air surrounding him. He walked in, chucking down his keys and phone onto the coffee table, slumping himself onto his new leather sofa and watched his stolen cable T.V.
Several hours had passed until he awoke, unaware he had actually fallen asleep and something wasn't right. The so-so apartment had been plunged into darkness, prompting him to slam his ankle into the low-topped coffee table. Limping over to where he believed the kitchen drawer was, he rummaged through until he felt something metallic and long. He flicked on the torch, the light dimming from the lack of battery power. He started to walk towards his bedroom, figuring that he would sort the problem in the morning. Standing the torch on it's end, illuminating half of his room, he began to undress. He walked over to the wardrobe. Opened the doors. Silence.
Next thing Ricky knew, he was in some form of classroom, a whirring sound coming from the children's desk in front of him. His vision was blurred, had he been drugged? Had someone done this to him? Had he been kidnapped? He was bound to the seat, he couldn't move. He began to panic, claustrophobia had began to kick in and he felt trapped, trapped without escape. He turned his head to the left, noticing a bolted window, a fake image of the outside world, showing smiles and cheers. He turned to the right, and noticed a T.V., it was static, but wait, something was beginning to appear, an image of a clown, but not a normal clown, a white faced puppet, pitch black eyes and red swirls on it's cheeks. Ricky knew exactly what this was, he knew the clown, the setting was perfect, this was it, Ricky's game, his test, Jigsaw.
"Hello Ricky, I want to play a game. You have walked through life freely, noticed by your fellow man as a hero. People notice you, your articles in the paper, and they see you as there source of America's latest information. But you have become corrupt, your stories have become lies and you have been to filled by fame to realise who you are offending, hurting if you will. Well now, you have your chance to view my work for yourself. In front of you is a desk, inside this desk you will find two spinning blades, they are very dangerous Ricky. Your game is simple, give to me the tools you use so easily without thought to destroy people's lives. Yes, your hands Ricky. The tools you use to write your fictional poison. When you have finished your game, the door will open and you will be released. I would hurry though, the timer will begin to count from 60 seconds and once it is up, the door will close and you will be left in this room to rot. Live or Die Ricky, make your choice."
"No! No! You fucker!" Ricky screamed as he watched the timer begin it's chilling countdown. He lifted the lid of the desk, noticing the two rotating saw blades. He had to do this. He couldn't stay in this room until he dies. He readied his hands above the blades, feeling the cool air the rotation is generating. He slowly lowered his hands down. Ricky began to scream as his blood hurled against the abandoned classroom wall.
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The cop car pulled to a slow stop outside the abandoned High School. Matthews stepped out of the passenger door looking over the top of the car to see his long-time partner, Kerry, stepping out of the driver's side. They began to climb the school steps, handguns drawn, followed by four other officers. The door to the school had a message on it, written in blood reading: "Look closer Detective Matthews". This was hardly calming for the young detective. The door to the school crept open, the cool autumn wind blowing inside followed by the crisp orange leaves of the trees surrounding. They cautiously entered the premises, guns trained on every doorway for any sign of, well, anyone.
The police team eventually reached a 3F room, labelled: "The lies have stopped". Bringing up the ram, they barged into the room, complete darkness was only inside. Until they shone their gun lights into the room, a single desk was in the centre of the room, blood covered blades were inside, no longer moving. Around the walls was blood, so much blood. The detective was just about to leave, when he heard a small murmur coming from behind a small chalkboard.
Advancing on the chalkboard, the murmurs grew louder. Signalling his team to move the make-shift barricade. His light eventually fell upon the face of a media journalist he knew well, Ricky Duff. He placed away his weapon, crouching down so he was level with Ricky. His face was pale, eyes heavy and covered with his own blood. He murmured slightly, raising his handless arms towards the Detective's face. Eric threw himself back in horror. A few of his team threw up silently in corners of the room. Ricky's arms collapsed back down and his head grew heavy, sloped down towards his chest. The journalist was dead, the lies had stopped.
Eric, regained his footing, turning to face Kerry he muttered, "Look at the goddamn wall, Kerry." As she approached the western wall she began to read the message left in blood by the late journalist: "Listen to the tape, Jigsaw lied." After the initial confusion of the message, she turned to see Eric holding up a tape he had taken from the Television set, still set to static.
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