Chapter Nine: Hammer and Chains

Co-written with Renegade Vic

"So…what now?" Addison grumbled, leaning against the wall in a mock stance of boredom.

"We keep movin'," Jonas replied, shifting his grip on Ava's upper arm slightly as he moved to properly look at the entire group. "No sense just standin' here, is there?"

"There's a few more tests to go," Amanda murmured from the back. "We find them, we find the antidotes and we all get out of here alive."

"With the exception of our dearly departed Latino," Ava muttered, just loud enough for Jonas and Mike to hear.

"She's right. Let's go!"

With an awkward first step, Jonas moved ahead and Ava slid over to balance herself with Mike's shoulder, her steps somewhat more solid than they had been.

"Think I'm getting a bit of feeling back now," she said. "I'll be able to walk soon, maybe."

"Don't hold your breath," the rocker replied, looking just as pale and drawn as she knew she would be. "You lost a lot of blood on that fuckin' thing. Just don't overexert yourself."

"Wasn't planning on it," Ava shot back, stretching out a hand to the wall. Mike was taking it worse than he was letting on to the others. She could feel his skin beneath her hand, and it was cool and clammy. The gas was taking its toll and it wouldn't be long before he was leaning on her for support. What a fucking awesome duo they'd make, she thought to herself sarcastically as they followed the others.

"So, Matthews got you for murder, didn't he? Framed, I should say. Who was the guy? You said the cops said you killed him for his Dodge, didn't they?"

"Yeah, dumbasses that they were. Anyone who fuckin' knows me, knows how much I…" Mike trailed off, suddenly aware of a series of red flags and alarms going off in his brain all at once. "Wait a second. I never said shit about the car."

Ava knew something about the murder he had been framed for. What she knew, and more importantly how she knew it, was unknown- but the prickling sense of unease that struck the hairs on his neck on end told Mike he wouldn't like the answers he got.

"They mentioned it in the papers," Ava replied, tone evasive. "I don't remember the guy's name, though…no idea why I remember the car, either. Weird details stick out, sometimes."

"No, they didn't. That cop, Kerry…she said the courts wouldn't give a fuck about how much I hate Dodge. Said she believed me, but that it didn't fuckin' matter," Mike growled. If there had been one definite "good cop" out of the bunch, it was Kerry. She actually seemed to grasp the notion of "innocent until proven guilty"- and to understand people a little bit.

"You know somethin'…" It wasn't a question- there was no way Ava would know about the car unless…

Unless she had been there.

"No, scratch that. You had to have seen the car."

"I…" Ava's defences hadn't gone up in time. She'd made a stupid fucking mistake, one of many that had happened inside this house. And now, he was looking at her with that suspicious look in his eyes that made her wish she could walk properly just so she could get away from him. One exposure of an otherwise secret aspect of herself was enough for one night. Any more, and she might just lose what little remaining sanity she had left.

"It's a complicated situation, alright?" she snapped. "Just because I know more about your case than the everyday reader, doesn't mean I was involved in any way with that guy's death."

"Never said you were, Ava. You did."

Without missing a beat or batting an eyelash, Mike had cornered her. She had lied. She remembered the guy's name quite clearly.

"Goddammit," she hissed, trying to move away from the rocker, holding onto the wall for support. "Don't ask fucking questions you don't want to hear the answers for, Mike. Trust me. Better to stay ignorant."

Mitchell Harris.

A nameless stranger whom she normally wouldn't have glanced twice at. But, as all humans do at some point in their lives, Harris made a mistake. A mistake that couldn't be left unpunished.

"Trust me." She hesitated. "You'll have fuckin' nightmares."

"Matthews is the one who fuckin' did this to me," Mike persisted, following just behind Ava as she staggered onward. "So unless you're sayin' you made him frame me, nothing changes. See?"

The truth was, he didn't really care what the truth was as long as he knew. There were pieces missing from the puzzle that Ava could fill in for him, one way or another. It was all vital information.

"Fine. You want to know so badly? I didn't make him do any of it…he made me do it. He knew who I was, or he said he did. I don't fucking know which way it was, but I played right into what he wanted done. You want to know how I know Mitchell Harris drove a Dodge Avenger? I killed him in it. Bashed his fucking brains out all over the interior."

It was as if time had slowed down around Mike- or if the world had, but time had stayed the same. Ava…was responsible for the killing that put him away. Why?

He knew why. Matthews had cornered her. He had always been good at bluffing, at coming up with bullshit evidence that his paid judges would accept unquestioningly. Matthews got his pay hike, the judges' pockets got lined a little thicker every year, and no one any of them cared about got hurt in the process- assuming any of them were capable of caring in the first place.

She didn't have a choice- or if she did, it wasn't something she had seen at the time. Matthews was good at playing both ends against the middle, and against one another, in order to come out ahead- they had eight perfectly good examples walking around in the same building to prove it.

"Gonna…kill that fucker," Mike growled, his fists clenching around the imaginary neck of Eric Matthews. "Help me do it. But make damn sure he suffers."

Ava turned, masking her astonishment with a smirk.

"Mike, I'm the fucking Puppeteer. Suffering is what I do."

He hadn't attacked her. That was the first instance of total surprise after she'd confessed to the killing of Mitchell Harris. She'd supposed that due to her involvement in the murder than had got him jailed, Mike would have jumped at her for even doing it in the first place. If she hadn't, then he might not have been here.

But she had had to. Mitchell Harris had come round to her neck of the woods, waited until she showed and basically called her out for every, single Puppeteer killing. His death was sloppy and brash, but she'd had no choice. He was going to the Herald and the LA Times with the 'evidence' that he had collected, and he was only there to gloat about her impending doom. In retrospect, the claw hammer to the head was probably a blessing, even if it didn't reflect her usual killings, which worked for her at least.

It was messy. And it had gotten Mike put away. To think, if she'd made a bit of effort on Harris, he might have been spared the prison sentence.

It had taken three strikes to kill the fucker. And ten more to splatter his face on the windows and smash in his skull. She had considered decapitating him, but she hadn't been 'on patrol', unlike the cop car that had driven by exactly a minute after she stepped out of the backseat of the Dodge and was wiping blood and brain-matter off her blouse.

A single side-step had been her saving grace, along with the large dumpster. The cop had seen the car, walked over to write it up for illegal parking…and then saw the body.

Or what was left of it.

He'd turned his back for a moment and Ava had made her escape, the dark-haired officer none the wiser.

"I've got a whole theme park of red delights for Detective Matthews," she growled to herself, taking a few quick steps forward before stumbling, clutching the wall again. "Right after I have a bit of R and R," she grumbled to herself.

"Hey, guys!" Daniel came running back, his eyes wide. "We found a door! We found another door!"

Wordlessly, Mike fell in step behind Daniel, using his shovel as an improvised crutch as he approached the door.

"Stuck?" he asked, leaning his shoulder against the unpainted door. Daniel nodded, staring at the lock.

"Yeah, it won't budge. We've tried-" Daniel's explanation was cut off abruptly as Mike backed up and threw himself into a flying side-kick, smashing through the door, the entire knob- and a portion of the wood surrounding it- broken off from the rest. The door swung open under the sudden application of force.

Another grimy room, the wallpaper and paneling long-since ripped from the framework. It was even more sparsely furnished than the room Ava's test had taken place in, with a spindly metal table, coated with rust, serving as the only object in the room that looked as if it had originally belonged in the house.

The sound of an engine roaring to life jarred Mike's focus from the table…to the device in the center of the room. A large, cylindrical pillar, made from some sort of blackened metal, began to shift slowly, rotating almost excruciatingly slowly. A number of chains hung from various rings that dotted the device.

On the table sat another envelope. Mike stepped over to the table to pick it up and tear it open- and froze.

His own name was written on this envelope. This was his test.

What the fuck was this thing, anyway? The question plagued his mind, distracting him as he tore the envelope open with shaky hands, tipping its contents- another audio tape, just like before- into his hand.

"This one's…it's mine, guys," he stated, turning to face them. "My test."

The device began to spin faster, the chains rattling as they were pulled away from the column by the centrifugal force.

Ava stumbled into the room, a shudder travelling her entire body at the sound of the scraping of chains and the powerful roar of an engine. Leaning against the doorframe for support, she practically fell into the room, only just managing to keep her footing.

At the sight of the rapidly spinning pillar, she took a quick step back, pressing her back against the wall.

"Who's test?" she murmured to Daniel, who seemed transfixed by the device.

"M…Mike's test," he replied, his voice weak and shaky, either from fear or the effects of the gas, she didn't know.

"Huh…"

She couldn't bring herself to comment further as Mike opened the envelope he was holding and the little tape slid into his hand, the same block writing reading, "Play Me".

"Tape-player," the rocker said coolly, holding out his hand for it. Jonas dropped it into his open palm without comment and Ava knew why.

Whenever a human being is faced with a potentially life-threatening situation, they experience a kind of shut down, a detachment from their emotions, in order to properly analyze the situation. Most would interpret this as a bad thing, but it was actually quite beneficial, especially since she had no idea exactly what Jigsaw planned to put Mike through in order for him to win his antidote and survive.

Popping open the tape-player, Mike slotted in the tape, closed it and thumbed the play button and the all-too familiar voice spoke.

"Hello, Mike. You've probably gathered who I am by now, but I've known who you are for a long time. You live your life in the fast lane, never slowing down to appreciate what you have and where you are. Tonight, we'll see just how fast you do live."

"The machine in front of you is powered by an engine much like the one in your car. It will not stop spinning, no matter what you do…the key to the door in front of you is located on the device- but can you locate it- and get to it in time? In three minutes, the door will lock forever, and you will no longer be able to reach the antidote behind it. Live or die, Mike- let the game begin."

By the time the tape had finished, the device had picked up considerable speed; the chains were now whipping around with blinding speed, whistling through the air as they spun.

The longer he waited, the less chance there would be of getting to the key. Of this much, Mike was sure. But it was already spinning so fast…the chains were likely to break bones if they connected at all. One good blow to the head or neck would leave him paralyzed at best, and dead at worst. There was no way to get close without getting torn apart…was there?

Sweat, cold and clammy, began to slick Mike's palms. Whatever he did, there wasn't much time to figure it out.

"Fuckin' A…" Mike groaned, steeling himself for what he had to do. There were no two ways about it- he'd have to run in and look for the key.

"Mike." Amanda was tapping him on the shoulder, holding his jacket out to him. "Put this back on."

She was right. The leather would cushion some of the blow- it had been designed to survive motorcycle crashes. Mike took hold of the jacket, grateful for its thickness, particularly the additional layers in its shoulders and sleeves.

"Thanks. It's still gonna fuckin' hurt, but maybe it'll just bruise bones, rather than break 'em now," he replied, forcing a grin as he pulled his jacket back on.

The engine powering the column's rotation revved again, accelerating the process that much more. If he was going to do it, now was the time.

A minute and twenty-seven seconds. The clock in the steel door across the room was counting away the seconds he had to complete the test. By the two-minute mark, it would probably be impossible to get anywhere close to the device.

Fuck it. Now or never. With a death-defying yell that wasn't quite any known language, Mike charged toward the spinning column, holding the shovel out to his side with both hands. If he was lucky, one of the chains would catch on it.

It did. One of the chains wrapped around the shovel's handle, swinging around the point of impact to lash into Mike's back with a resounding CRACK. White-hot lances of pain dug into Mike's ribcage as he shifted his grip from the shovel to the chain-

-and was lifted from his feet as the device kept spinning. This was where he had to be. Mike allowed the shovel to slip from his grip, dimly aware of the sound of it impacting the wall- probably forced through the wall- and used his other hand to take hold of a nearby handle.

Jigsaw wanted him to climb on the damn thing? He must not have known he was dealing with a free-runner. Mike spider-crawled his way across the pillar, an inch at a time, not bothering to seek out footholds as he desperately clung to the steel rods, to the chains- to anything that would get him a little closer to the key.

Within a few moment, Ava had given up trying to see what the hell was going on. Mike King had become Mike King, the Unseeable Blur and watching the device spin was getting to her head and making her more than a little dizzy.

Trying to fend off the coming headache, she turned her gaze to the timer on the wall, that was steadily counting down.

2:34…2:33…2:32…

Mike had spent nearly thirty second just getting onto the fucking thing and if he didn't get a move on his chance, well one of them, would be lost. They still had Laura's, Gus's and Addison's tests to find, seeing as they were cured and thus they're antidotes were free game to anyone who needed them. But, for all the danger of this trap, Ava wanted to help.

Mike had tried to help her, kept her upright as her blood had pooled into the bottom of the pillars, and now here he was, faced with his trap and she was just standing there, waiting for him to succeed or fail.

She took a step forward, only to have a hand grab her around the arm, a few inches away from her bandaged wrists.

Amanda. Again.

"You can't do anything to help him," she said, sounding almost mournful. "You try and get in there, you'll die. It's his test."

"His fucking test? You think I don't realize that?" Ava snapped, eyes flashing at the former junkie. "There's gotta be something we can do, isn't there?"

She shook her head and Ava seethed, pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation and regretting the movement almost immediately as her tendons stretched and her cuts seared with pain.

"Come on, Mike!" she yelled around gritted teeth. You've got two minutes!"

There it was. Held in place by a thin metal hook, the key- almost within arm's reach. But there were no hand-holds between his position on the device and the all-important key. Had he gone the wrong way? Was he supposed to have gone the other way around the column?

There was no way he'd be expected to make it all the way around in time to grab the key. It had taken him too long to climb around against the rotation- and climbing in the same direction that the trap was spinning was guaranteed to throw him from the device.

There was another chain, just a few inches past the key. If he could just get to it, somehow, Mike was confident he could get the key. But how to do it?

Rappel. The chain he was holding onto seemed longer than the rest- almost as if it had been placed there for exactly that purpose. Mike's hands shifted onto the thick, grimy chain- and he brought the soles of his boots to bear on the steel pillar.

The sudden shift in stance was dizzying- and the increased distance from the center of the column threatened to throw him from his precarious placement.

But it was the only way. Slowly, agonizingly, Mike shifted his feet along the pillar, a fraction of an inch at a time, until he was finally within reach of the key.

"CATCH!" he shouted, seizing the key between his fingers and flinging it toward where he hoped the others were standing. It was impossible to tell, anymore.

The sudden movement, however, was enough to upset his balance the rest of the way- and Mike found himself being flung around like a ragdoll, his desperate grip on the chain all that saved him from being thrown from the device.

His weight, placed entirely on the chain now, began to drag his handhold closer to the floor- and a certain death by pummeling if he fell.

He had to get back onto the pillar. Mike gripped the chain with both hands, clinging tightly to it as the device continued to fling him in faster and faster circles, climbing up the rusted metal until he was finally pressed against the central column again.

"Open the door! Open the fuckin' door!"