John bolted upright. He looked ahead, straight at the door in front of him. Was the Jigsaw Killer really going to let him off that easy? He got up, and walked over towards it. He turned the handle...and it actually worked! No key needed! He went to push and...
"Damn you, Jigsaw," He said. He tried to push again and again, with no luck. "This door is going to require at least two people to push open... he made sure..." He trailed off in frustration. He punched the door.
"Hey, dumbass, let us go!" Michael said. "The keys are right there on the floor!"
"How long will it take to get the door open?" John snapped back. "Less than fifteen seconds? I think not, and I personally don't feel like dying. Look above us. There is a steel cage, a huge mess of wires and bars mixed with steak knives. I can't keep track of what goes where there are so many knives up there! And they're going to fall on us if we don't get out of here in fifteen minutes, or if there isn't someone chained up after fifteen seconds! What are we supposed to do?"
"Let us go," Michael said. "We'll undo one at a time, and chain you up to it. As soon as me and Tim get out of these chains, we'll both use our strength to knock down the door. Then, we'll unchain you and get the hell outta here!"
John reluctantly agreed. He unchained Michael's left hand, and put his own hand in the chain. He did the same with his legs, and then finally his right arm. They repeated the process with Tim.
"Thanks," Michael said. "How much time we got left?"
"About 6 minutes...why?" John asked.
Michael walked over to the door...the wrong one, the one that lead to his two hundred million.
"M-Michael," Tim said. It was the first time John had heard it, and it sounded a bit raspy. "What the hell are you doing? That Jigsaw guy said not to—"
"Screw Jigsaw," he said. "He has my money in here, and I'm gonna get it."
He walked up to the door, and turned the knob. He hesitated, as if expecting a trap, then pushed. John watched as Michael pushed the door open into a closet, which had two breifcases in it. He also happened to look to the ceiling, and saw that the Jigsaw killer had really meant it when he said "Do not go in that room."
As the door opened, some of the metal bars began to move. An entire wall of the material holding the knives above began to fall behind Micheal, trapping him inside. He tried to stop it, but it was too late, and it was moving too fast. John only then also noticed that the container for them was slightly tilted in that direction, and the knives began to slide out, and fast. They piled on top of Michael, slicing him in every which way.
Michael was pinned, and he knew what had happened: he had broken the rules, and as Jigsaw had promised, he was left to a slow, painful inevitable death. He cried out, and wished that John would do something for him. Even Tim, who he had forced to kill Jimmy, he hoped would help.
"Sorry, Michael," Tim said. "You broke the rules."
Michael sat there, stunned, pinned in a position that was driving knives into him, slowly going through him, but not yet killing him. He turned his head, and in doing so, he sliced off most of his forehead and his left ear. He used his right hand, which was still in the closet and not completely pinned, to reach the case. He managed to get the clip undone, yet he couldn't open it. He gasped out in pain, the knives were getting worse now. He only wanted his money, and he wanted it whether he would have to die for it or not. He managed to drag the case over to him with the handle, and the breifcase dropped. He could only watch as the case fell open, and $200,000,000 in cash fell out, stained red with blood.
He yelled out in anger, and tried to move, tried to rampage his way out. The knives only shifted, and fell more. He was slowly being diced into peices, and knives were being driven into him deep enough so that they could not be removed. He was thrashing, and the knives only served to do more damage. He even at one point sliced his eyes, and went to move into fetal position from the pain. The knives drove themselves in even deeper, and slowly, and painfully, Michael Burnhurst died, just as promised.
"T-Tim!" John cried. "Get me out of these!" he yelled.
"How am I supposed to do that?" he asked. "After fifteen seconds the knives above us will..."
He trailed off looking at the ceiling, where at the knives were no longer stored. The had all either fallen on Michael or were down on that end. He realized that it didn't matter that the knives would fall, because they wouldn't fall on him.
He got the keys and began to undo the chains around John. After he got the second one, he heard a noise that made both of them jump. The gate above them opened, and the knives fell on the otherside of the room. The wall that had trapped Michael was still in tact, though, and still held him in there.
Tim finally got John undone, and they spent about ten minutes trying to break down the door. They finally got it, and walked into a room, a pitch-black room, lit only by the lights of the room from which they had just escaped.
A TV switched on, and showed a man with a clown mask.
"Congratulations. You followed the rules, and won. But now, its time for Round Two."
