IMPORTANT A/N: Yeah, yeah. I know I said review 6 times or no chapter 6... but whatever. I just want to get on with my story! But please, review anyways, 'kay? I'm not going to put those 'review or else' things on it anymore, but it would really make my day if you would. Thanks!

I didn't sleep well that night. Although I felt better after taking a shower, it was awfully disturbing living in a serial killer's home. There weren't any windows in my room and I kept my door closed for obvious reasons. When I finally woke up I tried to keep calm and go about my daily business. After that I looked for Hoffman, I hadn't seen him at all yet. I hadn't explored much of the warehouse, not that I wanted to. I found him immersed in his 'work,' steadily jotting down notes and fiddling with folders. I crept up behind him and tried to see what he was doing. He heard me and glanced at me once before putting away the folder and covering the notes with his left arm.

"Yes?"

"Oh, nothing," I paused. "Um… what're you doing?"

"I'm working... are you hungry? There's coffee and cereal made."

I had to think about it. I was hungry… but how do I know what he put in the food?

"I'm good… uh, about the things I left behind… when can I get them?" I asked, longing for my cheap yet stylish cell phone. I missed my friends.

"Depends… what do you want to get?" He said, sounding displeased.

"Just a couple of things… please?"

"Tell me what those things are."

I hesitated. "Things, okay? Like, my clothes... my... um, cell phone-"

He cut me off. "No cell phone. Clothes... fine, go ahead. I'll drive you."

"What? Uh, say again? How is it up to you?" I said angrily, starting feel scared again.

He sighed heavily, standing up straight. "Look, I'll drive you right now... but no cell phone, got it? Do you honestly think I could risk that?"

I tried to comprehend his words, I didn't fully understand. "Well,... fine. Just - let's go."

He started off towards the exit door and I followed shakily behind. I still wasn't used to all this — should I be? I really thought I was out of my mind... putting myself in such a situation. We got into the car and sat in silence, everything in this new life was awkward so far. He sped out of the deserted waste-land and in ten minutes we were there. I glanced at the poorly kept apartment complex and sighed. We exited the car and climbed the stairs, still in dead silence. When we got into my apartment he took a seat on my small couch and waited. He was more creepy than usual today... I shook more. I went into my almost empty room and grabbed some outfits and various hair things. My cell phone was still laying on my bed, tempting me. I went to leave the room, but I made the mistake of looking at it again. I ran over and stuck it in my bra; he'd never check there. As I left my room and saw Hoffman staring me down, I felt guilty. But I ignored it and gave him a small smile that was more like a smirk.

"Okay, I'm ready." I mumbled, opening the door.

I almost had a heart attack as I met my land lord's hazel eyes. They didn't look to happy.

"Where were you?!" They yelled, glowering at me.

"Uh-" I started, panicking. I was basically broke, I didn't even have half the rent.

"More importantly, where's my dough! Huh?" They said, even meaner-looking. I was definitely screwed.

Suddenly Hoffman pushed me aside. "How much?"

They hesitated, then formed a smile. "One-thousand, you got it?"

Hoffman forked out a bunch of crumpled green bills, then glanced at me shortly.

"And that's it, she doesn't live here anymore."

I could hardly believe him, did he really just pay my rent?

"Huh, whatever, just clear your crap out. Thanks, man." He said, turning back down the hallway.

I started to cry and tried to brush them away, but they kept coming down strong. Hoffman started down the stairs without me, I tried to keep up.

"T-thank you," I muttered.

He turned to nod at me but did a double-take when he saw my tears.

"What's wrong?" He asked, actually looking concerned.

I took a deep breath before answering. "It's... it's just... no one's ever been so nice to me before... been so kind, helpful..."

He looked embarrassed. "Don't worry about it."

The ride 'home' was even worse in awkwardness. Forget being silent, I couldn't hear anything. Things cooled off once we got home, but I was still overwhelmed by this sudden kindness; by a serial killer, no less. I murmured another "Thanks," before running over to my room to cry more tears of joy. Maybe things would get better... I still didn't have a lot of belief in that, but something was there. I just hoped that I wouldn't get killed in the process. I pulled myself together and started to put my clothes away in the small nightstand drawer. I decided to change into something else, as I did I remembered my cell phone. I took it out and turned it on. As soon as it did, the screen turned black and unresponsive again. Shit! I forgot the charger... this was going to cost me. I needed Hoffman to drive me, but that was out of the question. I cursed to myself and threw it in the drawer between some clothes. I left my bedroom and walked into the workshop area, Hoffman wasn't there. I noticed he hadn't put the mysterious folders and notes away, I wasn't going to kid myself; I knew I was going to snoop. I picked up the first folder and flipped it open. At the top it read, "Leon Whitman," scrawled messily. The rest was still hard to read, I didn't bother with it. There was also a photo paper-clipped to it, most likely of Leon. He had shaggy, dirty blond hair and looked to be in his late twenties. He was pretty skinny, too, but he wore baggy clothing. He didn't look like he knew someone was taking a picture of him; he was looking to his side and still walking. Slowly, I started to get what these folders were about. It was soon-to-be victim's of Hoffman - or Jigsaw's, gruesome 'games'. I shivered involuntarily. I threw the folder back on the pile and glanced at the notes. They were sketches of the human anatomy, plus strange mechanical contraptions either fitted on them or on the side. It was all so nasty, but I knew, somehow, I was getting used it. Well, not exactly used to it... but 'immune' to it. I sighed and turned to leave. But when I did, my arm swung to far out and I knocked over a small file-holder, full of at least thirty folders. I hissed and bent down to put them all back. One of them was open, I couldn't help but look it over. Like before, at the top there was the person's name. It read, "Amanda Young," much neater than the last. It definitely wasn't Hoffman's handwriting. Her photo wasn't very flattering; her hair was tied back messily and she looked tired and dirty. She looked around my age. I decided to read the notes on the page, seeing as they were legible.

Heroin

Rm. 109, Apt. building across from convenient store

club/dealer's/streets

possible apprentice

Jaw splitter

I contemplated the strange notes, my heart jumped at the last one. Jaw splitter...? I didn't even want to know. Heroin... it looked like whoever wrote this was getting heroin from this Amanda, but it probably just meant she was addicted to it. Because that's what this was all about, right? People with problems... and 'helping' them. What really bugged me about this, though, was the "possible apprentice" thing. Apprentice... a bit like accomplice, does that mean that she was apart of this whole horror factory? That is, if she lived through her test. I shivered at the thought of myself having a folder. I bet I did, but I wasn't about to look for it. I shut the folder and continued to put them all away. As I started to fit them back into the file-holder, Hoffman casually walked into the room. I felt my cheeks burn, not only was I caught red-handed, that could actually be literal if he got mad enough.

"What are you doing?" He asked bluntly, furrowing his brows.

"Nothing!" I said too quickly - and nervously. "I... was just -"

"Invading my privacy. Get out of there." He sighed, but sounded as if he understood.

I stepped out of his way and watched him fiddle with the folders.

"Why were you looking at these old things?" He questioned, looking at me curiously.

"I didn't mean too, I accidently knocked them over... so... there was one that was open..." I said in a small voice.

He seemed satisfied with my explanation.

"Um, is Amanda here? I mean,"

"Amanda? What -" He started.

"Amanda Young... oh, sorry. It's from that folder I saw, I don't know, it just said something about apprentice; so I thought she's here, right? Um..."

He looked like he was about to laugh. "Amanda Young? No, she's not here, Madison. She's been dead for while, now. And for good reason!"

I shook violently and tried to respond. "Jaw splitter..."

He stopped smiling. "No, but I wish she had. She deserved it, that stupid bitch. But she got it, in the end... right in the neck."

"Oh my god... you - you killed her?!" I said, heart pounding horribly fast.

"No, no. I don't believe in murdering. That's not what my work is about. It's about testing those who don't appreciate their lives, testing how far their willing to go to save their own lives. That's why they call me Jigsaw, you know? The jigsaw piece I carve on those who fail - it's not a trademark, it's a sign that they were missing a piece of the human puzzle: the survival instinct. I'm sorry - am I scaring you?" He explained.

"Yeah, just a bit. But... what happened? Who killed her, then?" I asked, trying to subdue my nervousness.

"Oh, it's a long story. But she was one of John's many apprentices - which included me. I'll never understand how he ever thought of her as his daughter - it sickened me and still does."

"What? Who's... John? I don't get it..."

"Oh, god. Don't tell me... when was the last time you watched the news? Or read a newspaper?" He sighed, seemingly aggravated.

"I couldn't afford cable... and I was too drunk and tired all the time to bother buying a newspaper." I mumbled.

"Right. Look, I'm not going to sit here and explain every little detail..."

"Sorry... uh, do you have old newspapers, maybe you taped the news...?" I asked, feeling desperate to understand this whole drama.

He hesitated, then nodded. "Actually, yes."

He went to another desk in the room and opened a file cabinet, pulling out a pile of newspapers. He handed them to me and I grabbed them, scanning the dusty surface.

"Happy reading." He said, resuming his seat and opening Leon's folder.

"Okay... thanks..." I muttered, running back to my room to 'study'.