Saw III: Sadistic Psychosis
Disclaimer: The original plot and characters is property of the makers of Saw or whatever it is.
Rating: To my knowledge, this is going to be easily rated an M or whatever it is called. Gore description, violence description, and use of harsh and strong language.
A Few Notes to Point Out
This setting begins where the second had left off. At the end of a bloody story. Or shall I say chapter. A new plot is going to take place and will only refer little to the movie antecedent. This will contain a confusing set of perspectives but it will truly make sense during the text. Some things may be out of place because I cannot remember the whole movie. I also do know of the new movie of Saw 3 is already in production but, hey, I'll still give this a shot. I began this on March 7, 2006.
Violence Among Us (the perspective of Amanda)
I have seen a great deal of agony as well as endured a whole lot. I pity those who take their lives or think they have a great vision of this world. The truth is, we are all anathematized to a harsh reality and many are damned to self-inflicted pain. I know I truly was. So why am I being hypocritical under my previous experiences and circumstances. Because I, a protégée of a manipulator, can pick and have picked at the fabrics of nature, and follow in his right path. It just shows that any person can be influenced, and mutated from their shell, to become the meister of deciding who appreciates and deserves life, and who doesn't...
Aftermath of the Beginning (third person)
As Amanda closed the shutter to mute the yells of a defeated man, she walked through a somewhat eerie hall of the trap infested house. As she approached the stairs, she soon climbed the steps to where she found one dead body. The house had been incredibly silent. After a few moments of standing still and watching the different textures of the room, she remembered her father-like teacher. She soon ran in a rising speed to the van in which the ignorant officer arrived on. There, the body of the "Jigsaw" master mind was already going through rigor mortis. She leaned closer to the window and clenched her fists, "GODDAMMIT!"
The still thought of having to learn on her own angered her, but in a way, taught her. She ran to the other side and found that the keys were still near the ignition. In moments, she drove the car into a lake where she buried the evidence of anything happening under a blurry liquid barrier. Amanda soon walked her short path to the slaughterhouse she now calls home.
Picked Off (third person)
Cheater
What was needed of Jordan Ryman was the skill of intelligence. For quite a time, he had been cheating his way through high school and smoked marijuana (at times was pressured and made to sniff cocaine). This was a subject found out today, when the cops finally showed him the error of his way.
"What the hell is wrong with you? You decide to smoke pot and then expect yourself to get away with it?" An enraged father practically spat these words as they hit Jordan hard.
"Maybe I don't care what the fuck you guys think! I can... do whatever I want!" Jordan lied, feeling water filling his eyes slowly. This action only made his depression deeper and penetrated it to the extent of true hatred. Hatred towards the world and towards the only family he had, his parents.
"What, so you think you can do whatever you want, huh? I'll show you what you think!"
He raised his hand across his chest so the backside was facing his son. He then swung it at him making Jordan fall to the floor in pain formed of pinches and stings. His mother made a small scream at this sight and a tear slipped out of her eye. She then whimpered a bit knowing too well that she could not break the intensity of the situation. The extreme displeasure of a father, almost immediately, disonnecting with his son. He then shouted his final words to his son. Literally, his final words.
"NOW YOU THINK ABOUT THAT! Go to your room and do not come out unless you had to take a shit! GO!"
He watched, satisfied, Jordan stumble to his room at the end of the hall near the bathroom. A pure, temporary, resentment invaded Jordan's mind. He watched himself slowly, and reluctantly, remove the contents of his backpack and replace the empty space with clothes and a few precious items. He then watched the window of his bedroom, facing the driveway, as the only way to free himself. He opened the window as wide as he could. He doubled his check if the window was completely ajar, trying to spare time before his departure. As he just passed the opening between a safe and loving haven and the harsh reality of loneliness, he was attacked by a rather muscular man in a black sweater and blue jeans. The man muffled Jordan's yells for help and punctured him with a needle that soon made him fall into an unconscious state.
Wanted
Murder was the only lesson taught to Wilson Hunt. The cold personality of death attacked his inside at a very young age. Traumatized, he lived life high on crime and the meaning of his existence was meant to kill. The verisimilitude of mercy and good thoughts presented in Wilson's mind is extremely false. He has always thought the world was cruel and the inhabitants of this planet were just the same. He thought himself as the balance of the population and it's hellish features. Nothing could have saved him... unless...
Wilson was finished eating a cereal breakfast in a one room apartment. This "home" was located on the second floor and the window he had, faced the parking lot. He watched the morning news on the television as he filled the sink with water.
"Three men were broken out of police grasps this morning with little evidence of how this happened. Officials only suspect the worst. Sergeant Darrel Walters says, These lethal criminals were waiting for their transport to their individual, and last, prisons when the truck was attacked by some insane man'. Nobody knows who may have done this and it is only getting harder to solve the case."
A creepy feeling overcame him and he quickly watched his surroundings. His sense of paranoia has always been enhanced since his first murder. The feeling that someone knows of your doings or is watching you, waiting to attack, is always an adrenaline packing sensation. He resumed washing the small amount of dishes in the sink, only to accidentally cut his finger with a knife.The portion of blood loss made the waterfilled sink a shade of pink, then red. Hunt ran to his bathroom, feeling the stinging in which a syringe could only make. A needle, filled with a substance that makes you sleep. Wilson fell to his knees watching the floor become an unstable environment. He heard soft footsteps and made a weak attempt to attack. He let himself go, hearing the television sound slowly fade, into a deep sleep.