He awoke slowly. He opened his eyes, but quickly scrunched them shut again as a searing pain shot through his head. A hangover. Had he been drugged?

He rose to his feet slowly. He took a step, only to be pulled back by his left leg. He fell down again. He opened his eyes. Everything was blurry at first, but as his vision cleared he saw that he wasn't wearing any clothes. The next thing he noticed was a chain attached to his left leg.

His heart began to race, and he looked at his surroundings. He was in a very large, empty, rusty brown room. He looked to see what the chain was attached to: A wall with jutting spikes.

"Help!" He shouted, "Somebody help me!"

No answer.

He looked around. There had to be something he could use!

That's when he saw it. Lying on the dirt floor next to him. A tape-recorder. He shakily picked it up, hesitant of what it may reveal to him. He pressed play.

"Hello, Joey." A voice rasped from the recorder. "I want to play a game."

A game? What kind of a sick game is this? He thought as he stared at the tape-recorder with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

"Being a professional athlete, I'm sure you're used to games. Both on the track, and off."

What?

"Being an athlete is no easy task. You must train yourself, and keep your body healthy. Why, then, did you resort to drugs? Or begin abusing your wife? Of course, the reason you abuse your wife is because you're on drugs, which brings us back to our first question."

How could he possibly know these things?

"The game I want to play is very simple. In fact, you've played it hundreds of times. It's a simple sprint to the door at the end of the room, and to your freedom."

Joey looked up from the tape-recorder to see a plain wooden door on rusty hinges at the end of the room.

"The problem is," the voice continued, "when you run, those drugs you take hold you back, keeping you from realizing your full potential, and thus obtaining freedom and appreciation. So is the chain that you've undoubtedly noticed attached to your ankle. There's a spring attached to the chain, and just like drugs, the further you get, the more you're held back. And just like drugs, it will eventually pull you back far enough that it kills you." The voice paused and coughed hoarsely before continuing, "The key to your problems, and your chain, is in the middle of the room. Good luck."

Joey looked back at the wall with spikes sticking out of it. Now he understood. If he tried to get too far, the chain would pull him back into the spikes. He looked around the room. He could spot a small box sitting in the middle of the room, most likely with the key inside of it, but there was nothing he could use to pull himself to it, or to keep hold of when he had to open the box, get the key, and unlock his chain.

He took an experimental step forward, pulling his left leg hesitantly, testing the chain, and more importantly, the spring. There was a little resistance. He lifted up his right foot to take another step, only to be yanked off his feet by the chain moving suddenly towards the wall, followed shortly by the creaking sound of a spring that had just been pulled back and let go of.

"Damned spring…" he muttered to himself. He gasped in realization.

Of course! Why didn't he think of it before? He crawled over to the wall where the spring was attached, and where the spikes starting jutting out. He carefully wedged his hand between the spikes, reaching his way to where the spring should be located. Soon he could feel it.

"Ha!" he shouted triumphantly, "Not as clever as you thought!"

He pulled on the spring, trying to pull it loose, but it was fixed tight. He tried again. Still no budge. This time he pulled as hard as he could, and he could feel the spring pull a little. He kept pulling until…
"Sonofabitch!" he shouted angrily, pulling his hand back suddenly. The spring had clipped his fingers when it closed again.

He looked around the room desperately. He called for help a few times, but to no avail. It was then he spotted a small triangular block jutting out of the floor, not far from where he was.

"What the hell is this for?" he asked irritably. It was close enough that he could reach it with ease. He looked at it intently for a period of time before he realized it was a starting block, like those used before a race. The tape-recorder's words echoed in his mind, "a simple sprint to the door at the end of this room…"

He would have to literally run in order to put enough force into the spring to get anywhere. But if he ran, the spring would undoubtedly pull him into the jagged wall.

Maybe I can grab onto it as I slide by… he thought.

He walked over to the block, and felt a little bit of resistance from the spring, but not much. He grabbed the block and pulled on it, testing how firmly it was planted in the ground. To his surprise, it came out with ease. It definitely wasn't strong enough to grab onto if the spring pulled him back.

He sighed in frustration and put the starting block back in it's place. He couldn't just stay in this room… What if no one found him? What would his wife think?

If I could do it all again, I would…

That's when the tears came.

John took a deep breath from the oxygen mask and turned back to the monitor. What he saw disgusted him. The man he'd brought was crying now, having lost all hope. He'd only been in the game for an hour.

John sighed. He'd had such hope for this one. He thought for sure that Joey would pass through the game with ease. He'd been sure that he would have successfully taught Joey appreciation, and that Joey would, in turn, begin to teach appreciation to others. After all, Amanda did.

The figure on the monitor placed the starting block back in it's place, and soon knelt into a running position.

John leaned towards the monitor with interest. Perhaps there was hope, after all.

He knew what must be done. Whoever did this had left him no choice but to comply. It was his only hope.

He put the starting block in it's place, and then knelt into a running position, making sure his left foot was on the block.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, imagining the race. He imagined the other runners lined up beside him, and he imagined his coach telling him not to look back. He saw, in his mind's eye, the gun being raised into the air. He imagined the gun firing, signaling the race to begin, and he was off.

John watched as the man on the monitor struggled against the spring, but slowly yet surely made his way towards the key.

He watched with interest as the man swiped the box off the ground, but continued his way towards the door. The man struggled to continue on, though his progress slowed dramatically as he got closer to the door.

What interested John was the fact that the man opened the box and pulled out the key as he struggled towards the door. John could imagine the spring mechanism he'd designed, and placed within the wall, being pulled back, increasing the opposition force.

He'd purposely designed it so that Joey couldn't make it to the door while the chain was attached to his leg. He'd told Joey in his message, "when you run, those drugs you take hold you back, keeping you from realizing your full potential, and thus obtaining freedom and appreciation. So is the chain that you've undoubtedly noticed attached to your ankle.". The only way he would be able to reach his freedom was to detach the chain and lose his drug habits.

John sighed once again. He'd had such hope for this one.

He watched as Joey was yanked off his feet and dragged rapidly towards the wall of spikes. He saw the key fly from Joey's hands, and watched with empathy as Joey uselessly groped for the key as the chain continued to drag him towards the wall.

He rose from his chair and took another deep breath from the oxygen mask. He made his way to the elevator, and pushed the button to go down. He waited patiently as it brought him down into an empty hallway. He walked slowly down the hallway, passing various rooms, some from which he could hear screaming, others from which he could hear nothing.

He didn't bring all of his 'students' to his warehouse. Just a few. Only the ones he saw hope for, or a greater purpose in his future lessons.

At last he came to a small wooden door on rusty hinges. There had been red arrows painted on the wall, pointing to the way out. There were also a pile of clothes, folded neatly, lying just outside the door. On top of them was a card.

He ignored these and walked into the room. There, at the far end of the room, held up by the spikes that impaled him, was Joey. John truly felt sorry for this man. Not for what he'd done to him, but for the fact that the man had been unable to win.

He pulled out a knife from a hidden pocket beneath his cloak. He never looked forward to this part, but he saw it as necessary. He doubted anyone would find the body here, but he still felt as though it should be done.

Carefully and slowly, he first made the basic outline of a jigsaw piece on the man's upper thigh. He saw it fitting it be on the man's thigh, as Joey had been a runner. Once this was done, he dug the knife deeper under the skin, carefully cutting away the muscles and tendons that lie beneath until at last the trademark of his work was plain and visible. He took a napkin from his pocket and cleaned the blood around the jigsaw piece he'd carved into the man's skin. Once that was done, he cleaned the knife, sheathed it, and made his way to the door. He left the tape-recorder where it was. It reminded him all too much of why Joey was here, and how he had failed miserably. Besides, if the police found the body…

If…. What a powerful word. It only had two letters, and yet it could have the utmost impact on a person's life.

He stopped and picked up the clothes he'd laid out by the door. He'd had such hope. As he walked down the hallway, back to his workroom, he silently read the card he'd typed out in high hopes of the man's victory.

Congratulations, Joey, you lived through our little game. Maybe now you can learn to appreciate your life, and all that it has given you. I have high hopes for you. What happens to you now depends entirely on your choices… I am hope you make the right ones, for if you do not, there will be consequences.