"You followed the rules," Jigsaw said. "But Michael didn't. What happens when you break the rules?" He paused a minute.

"Answer me!" He yelled back. John and Tim were shocked to think that Jigsaw could actually see them.

"You die," John said. "A slow, painful, inevitable death! You die! Now what the hell is going on? You've never had a round two before! We won, we survived!"

"Yes," Jigsaw replied. "But not quite. You won by default. If someone cheats, then everyone else they're with automatically wins. You must earn your right to live, to leave, to survive in my little game."

Jigsaw laughed, and the TV turned off.

"What? Jigsaw!" John yelled out in anger, into the darkness that then engulfed them. He heard a faint hissing sound, and slowly started loosing his strength. He became light headed, and then just passed out.

When he awoke, he had no idea where he was. He was in a small chamber, only about three feet wide and tall, and about five feet long. The wall on his right was made of glass, but it was incredibly old, a filthy yellowish color, and faded. He could only see the light on the other side, nothing definite.

On the other side of that glass, Tim didn't have that well of luck. Above him was a gigantic nozzle, but it was dry. He was standing in basically a gigantic funnel, to the left of him there was a small glass window, though it was incredible dirty, and a faded yellow color. There was a lock on it, and he knew that something important must be in there. Perhaps John, even. His arms were chained to the walls. He legs were chained to the wall in front of him and behind him, and the same went for his arms. What bothered him the most was that he couldn't see what they were chained to, they simply went throught a hole in the wall. But for the moment, he could freely move them now.

He suddenly heard a machine turn on, and the chains around him began to retreat into the walls. He was standing with his arms and legs pulled out in different directions. Suddenly the chains began to move again. He was dragged to the left, out of the sloped floor and away from the hole in the center. He realized Jigsaw could make him move in any direction he wanted. He was moved towards a table, and that table had a tape on it.

He knew what he had to do. He grabbed the tape, and waited for the chains to move him around again. This time he was dragged towards a counter, on the other side of the room in front of him. He put the tape in the player.

"Hello, Timmothy." Jigsaw's voice played. "Do you feel helpless? Like a puppet? Of course not. That is the only feeling you know, so you do not know otherwise. Like when you were a puppet for Michael. And like when Michael tried to make you kill Jimmy. And all of the other things he made you do, you never felt remorse, did you? You never tried to break the pattern, did you?"

There was a pause, a pause that Tim hated, and that Jigsaw would just keep talking.

"Well today you will be a puppet. Do you see that nozzle up above you? As soon as this tape is done playing, that nozzle will turn on. And a liquid will start gushing out. But that is no ordinary liquid, its called sulfuric acid. And every few minutes or so, a key will drop. You have two choices: You can try and catch the key, or you can take a shortcut out of my game. In that closet, to your right, two axes, a rope, a hole, a fake wooden board and a wooden shelf. If you can safely get the axe, you may use it to try and get through your chains."

Tim wondered what how he could use a hole. He began to ponder it, but the tape snapped him right back to reality.

"The last key that will be dropped is the key that opens up that glass window. Inside of it is the one you are trying to protect, John. If he dies, you too shall die. Do not think you can escape Jigsaw. This is what happens when you do..."

The lights dimmed, and the TV next to the tape player turned on.

It showed a man, in his mid-forties, in a small room. The floors were just wire, with many holes in them. Behind him, the walls were moving, and coming in closer. They were ragged with nails. In front of him, there was a keypad inside of the wall. Every so often, flames would shoot up from the floors, or something would drop on him. They were about the size of a basketball, and they were made of nothing but needles. They'd shatter as they'd hit the floor, and they'd fall through the holes, and Tim presumed they'd soon be dropped on him again.

The next man was chained into some strange contraption on his head, and he was in a long, narrow hallway. There was barely enough room to fit him, and at the end of the fifteen foot long mini-hallway there was a key, on top of a little nook. But there was a long, pointed wooden pole, only about an inch thick. For him to get the key, he needed to impail himself as he walked to the key. He spent alot of time hesitating, and he barely got the pole into him before his head was ripped off from his jaw.

The tape started playing again.

"The first man I found in Russia, hiding out from me. The second man was living a hundred and fifty miles away from any remote civilazation in northwestern India. Now that you know you can not hide...let me tell you, that catching the keys won't be easy. You may not use your hands, and my little puppetry device will see to that. If I see you trying to use your hands, I just might rip them off. You never know. How you catch them? Ha, that's your job to figure out..."

The tape stopped, and the nozzle began to spray. At first, the acid didn't bother him. But then, it got into his eyes, and it burned. All over him, the acid was burning, itching, causing the worst pain he could imagine. He felt the first key hit him in the head, and stepped on it as it was falling down the drain. He pushed it off to the side, and hunched over. Two keys hit him, and he didn't get either of them.

"No!" he yelled. "NO! NO NO NO!" The last key dropped right in front of him. He turned to the right. That closet, in that wall, was his last chance. He ran over, and his hand slipped as he tried to grab the knob. His entire body had spots that were bleeding now, and he was a pinkish color. All of his hair was gone. He stopped for a second, remebering what had happened to Michael.

He stepped off to the right, and swung the door open. He didn't hear anything. He looked in, and saw the axe on the shelf, which was about three feet off the ground. In such a hurry to pick it up, he didn't even think about what would happen to him. He grabbed it, and lifted.

What he didn't see was the string fed through a small hole in the wall, which had to be the fake wooden board. The other axe was set up in a trap, which he would never see, because as soon as he stood up, the other axe came right through the fake wall, and landed on his forehead, splitting it open. He was dead before he hit the ground.

John had no idea what that sound of rushing liquid was from, nor that sound that one can only associate with a skull being split open. A strange, yellow gas began to fill his chamber.

"Shit...not again!" he thought.

He awoke in a familiar place for a change. He was on some nice, soft earth, and the grass was cut the day before. He got up, and looked around. He was home, on his own front lawn.