"I don't think so."
"What do you think you're doing? What the fuck do you think you're doing? No. You can't fucking do this to me. Fuck you. No! No!"
"Game over."
The door was closed and it was dark around him. Detective Hoffman spitted on the floor and then retreated to the wall. There needed to be a way out. Jigsaw always left a last possibility. This place was used by Jigsaw.
The saw was gone, no possibility to escape. He felt his surroundings, everything was cold. There was the bathtub. Suddenly he felt chilled. Of course, when the bathwater has run down, with it the key for the chains. And he had had a second one, in case he needed to perform a second test down here. John had given it to him months ago. Hoffman had put it into his jacket.
The jacket he always wore when murdering. He felt into his pockets, his outside pockets and inside pockets. And there it was. His tiny, fucking key. He fumbled it out of the bottom of his pocket and it fell to the ground. He searched it as he couldn't see anything. He grabbed the little piece of metal and tried to put it into the keyhole. He cursed out loud and promised that he'd come back for Gordon.
The chain jumped open and he freed his leg.
"The game must go on," he muttered when he slowly stood up and went toward the door.
His hands grabbed the metal and he threw it aside. The green light was flooding back into the chamber and allowed him to see again. He smiled but then walked straight down the corridor. When Gordon was dealt with, he could continue his purpose.
He would conclude what John had begun, but now he'd do it his own way. No ethics of John, no Amanda to argue with, no Jill who despised him, only he to do what must be done. Teach the people how to start a new life. Decide who is worthy to do so. "The game has just begun," he whispered when he walked up the stairs of the basement.