AN: Takes place between Saw I and Saw II. Some tags apply to later chapters. You could theoretically read this without knowing much about the Saw movies, only googling a few character names.

Consciousness came to Christine in waves, as if she were bobbing to the surface of the ocean, only to be pulled back down again. Gradually, she stayed above long enough to take stock of her surroundings.

It was cold. She was sitting in a hard-backed chair. There was something around her wrists holding them in place. She opened her eyes, blinking in even the dim light. It was dark, but she could tell it wasn't her apartment.

Finally, her head was clear enough for her to begin panicking.

She tugged frantically on her wrists, but they barely moved. When she looked down, she saw they were duct-taped to the arms of the wooden chair. She thrashed wildly. The chair creaked, but she couldn't get free.

Christine screamed. "Help! Help! Please, help!" Her heart smashed against her ribs as if it were just as desperate to escape.

Her gaze flashed around the room she was in, looking for some way out. The room was small, the walls stained concrete. Rusted nozzles on the walls made her guess that this was an abandoned shower in some industrial building. The only light was provided by a camping lantern on the ground. Beside the lantern was an old CRT TV.

Horrible, sickly realization spread through her. Her last desperate little bit of denial was squashed when the TV buzzed to life with a field of static.

"Oh, god," Christine moaned once the picture cleared. She recognized the white-faced, black-eyed doll from the news—everyone had seen the terrifying image. Probably, like Christine, most people in this city had had nightmares about it. Now, she was living that nightmare, and there was no way to wake up.

"Hello, Christine." The deep, gravelly voice crept under Christine's skin. She heard herself whimper while her eyes were fixed on the screen.

"I want to play a game. You have spent your life in the pursuit of success. All of your effort, energy, and boundless ambition has been focused solely on the goal of becoming a great singer. For this ambition, you have set aside relationships and any opportunity to reflect on your life. All that you want to be is a voice. You are close to achieving your goal."

Her eyes welled up with tears. Was that it? Was her entire crime just caring too much about her career? Not having a perfect work-life balance at twenty-five? But, then, she knew that the Jigsaw Killer had never needed any legitimate reason for choosing his victims; he taught "lessons" to criminals and people with depression. No one was really safe.

That didn't mean it didn't physically pain her how unfair it was. She'd done nothing. It wasn't fucking fair.

"But, now you question your singular focus. You contemplate a new distraction. A lost soul to take under your wing."

The camera jerkily panned over to what looked like a photograph on the table. I took her a moment to recognize it as a picture of her and Raoul de Chagny stepping out of a Starbucks, holding their drinks and chatting animatedly.

"No!" She redoubled her thrashing. "You stay away from him. You bastard!"

Her screams cut off the next few words of Jigsaw's sermon. "...Sacrifice ambition for infatuation? Today, you will learn what is truly important to you. The opera house in which you were supposed to be performing tonight has been rigged with explosives. In ninety minutes, the explosives will be triggered, killing dozens."

Her eyes managed to grow wider, and for a moment she wasn't able to breathe for fear.

"To stop this from occurring, you must make a sacrifice—you must prove how far you will go to achieve your ambition. Raoul is somewhere in this building. To prevent the explosion, you must find him and kill him before the ninety minutes are up."

She screamed in inarticulate protest and yanked on the tape until she could almost pull her wrist free.

"Know that I'm not lying, Christine." The camera panned to the other side of the puppet. Her stomach lurched as she saw another picture of Raoul. In this one, he lay slumped on a concrete floor, unnaturally limp. She mostly identified him by the mop of long, blond hair.

"Raoul…" she choked around a fresh wave of tears.

The camera centered back on the puppet. "You will be provided with the tools to complete your task. It will be easy. I can assure you that you do not truly know this man you think you love. You have never truly known him. You aren't aware of all of the days he has spent longing for death. Even your presence has not been enough to make him truly appreciate his life. By killing him, you will be, in fact, granting him his with."

"You bastard," she sobbed. "You won't get away with this!"

"It is time for you to decide what is more important to you: the crowds or one pathetic soul. Live or die. Make your choice."

As soon as the video ended, Christine screamed. "Help me! Help! God, please!"

Finally, she managed to free first one hand and then the other. She leap to her feet, but the minimal amount of freedom didn't mean much. She was still trapped, still helpless.

She became aware of a bulky shape in her pocket. She dug out a Casio watch set to a countdown timer. It read 1:29:08 and ticking down.

"Shit," she breathed. She struggled to make her brain work clearly. There was a way out of this. There had to be. If she was going to make it through, she needed to think.

Jigsaw hadn't given her any reason to believe that the opera house was really rigged with explosives. An act of mass murder like that would be unlike anything the killer had attempted before; but, then, from what the media seemed to be reporting, he didn't lie in his tapes. In any case, She wasn't prepared to call his bluff.

For now, Christine would go on the assumption that he had been telling the truth. That didn't mean she was going to go along with, though. No one was going to die today.

Jigsaw had condemned her for her ambition. Well, now he was going to find out what that ambition was made of, what her father had taught her since she was a girl: grit, will, and never, ever saying "die."

This monster didn't know her. He didn't know anything about her. She was going to show him just how big of a mistake he had made.

The rusted metal door on the wall was unlocked, but it took an effort for her to pry it open. The hallway outside was dark, so she picked up the lantern. She paused as fear momentarily kept her rooted to the ground. She took a deep breath.

"Fuck you."

She stepped out of the roof.