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Tensions were running high in the dingy operating room. The lives of more than four people were at risk; the gravity of anyone’s next actions hung in the air. Tasked with defusing the situation, you could only watch apprehensively as your girlfriend sobbed—but your eyes weren’t on her, rather the weapon in her hand. Even though she looked distracted, the gun never left Lynn’s direction.
One step was all it took. Placing yourself between the bullet and Lynn was a death sentence, but it was something you knew you had to do to save her. It would finally teach her how destructive her ways were, that killing people wasn’t the end goal—testing them, teaching them, making them cherish their lives was. You couldn’t pinpoint the moment she stopped understanding that philosophy, but the Amanda you knew didn’t want to kill Lynn.
However, you’d seen the yellow envelope Hoffman slipped in her drawer, and the way she’d grown jealous of Lynn when John, disillusioned, confessed his love for her. Amanda wouldn’t live through this without your intervention. You didn't care about how disappointed John would be in you for intercepting his test for her—especially since he was the one who asked you to protect her.
“What the fuck do you want from me?” you sob, completely giving up on breaking free from your chains. You leaned back in the chair in defeat, looking at the man opposite you—he never took his eyes off you.
Glancing over his shoulder, he confirmed that the two of you were alone. “Amanda needs a guiding hand, one that I cannot offer her,” he explained, leaning in closer and placing a comforting hand on your cheek. Ironically, the man who had put you in such a brutal trap was the first person to touch you so tenderly, instead of the rough-handling you were used to. “You’ve isolated yourself from everyone you’ve ever cared about, and she’s slow to trust people. I think you both have something in common, something you can bond over. Only you understand how to save her from herself.”
You scoffed, leaning into his hand. “So, you want me to be her shrink or something? Do you kidnap all her best friends, or is she capable of making her own?” you snapped, coming to your senses and wrenching your face from his soft touch.
John shook his head, moving away. “You’re not understanding what I’m asking of you. Throughout your life, you’ve only seen the bad in people. I’m asking if you can, for once, see the good in someone. You may think what you want, but if you saw her as I did, you’d understand that she was a lost soul looking for purpose.”
Looking at your bound hands, you sighed and lowered your head. “Fine, I can do that. . . But what if she hates me?” you muttered, glancing up to meet his eyes.
“It's only because she doesn’t know you.”
After that encounter, you’d officially become another one of Jigsaw’s accomplices—but you were not like the others. While ‘looking out’ for Amanda, the two of you grew close, like John had hoped, and before long found comfort in one another’s warmth. Amanda found it difficult to open up, often causing your relationship to take three steps back, but with enough patience and kindness, you finally found the girl John saw.
However, all that progress was unravelling fast before your eyes. John’s deteriorating health cost Amanda her mental health. Soon, she’d become so obsessed with the thought of losing him, she’d lost sight of everything else—including what he wanted. Suddenly, his philosophy seemed senseless; when Amanda was confronted with the possibility that her father figure was mistaken, she reverted to the woman she’d been before Jigsaw.
He told her that if these people tried hard enough, they could live—and John believed they were all capable of change. However, Amanda knew the truth; these people didn’t deserve to live because they hadn’t changed.
But that wasn’t the case with Lynn. You knew she deserved to live; she’d passed her game, she’d even realised how much she missed her husband. Amanda, however, was too preoccupied with her own inability to change; it would cost her life.
“Amanda, please, just listen,” you muttered, stepping between the surgeon and the gun. Your hands reached for the gun, keeping a firm grip on it, as you placed your finger under her chin. Lifting her head to look at you, her watery brown eyes pleaded with you. She just wanted to be fixed, and you could give her that. “Shooting Lynn won’t fix you. Killing these people won’t change anything. You have a choice, one you think is being taken from you, but I promise you it isn’t.”
She dropped the gun to her side, allowing you an opportunity to wrap your arms around her. “No one ever changes,” she whispered, tucking her face in the crook of your neck. A resounding crack echoed throughout the room, causing you to gasp and face Lynn—she fell forward and into the arms of her husband, Jeff, who’d just stormed into the room.
“NO!” you cried, barely having any time to process the bullet that zipped straight for you. Collapsing into Amanda’s arms, she screamed in fear, clinging to you. Her hands pressed down on the burning pain in your shoulder, stopping the blood flow. Jeff tried to shoot Amanda again, but the gunshot was a blank—he’d used his one bullet on the wrong target. You were sure there was a deep Jigsaw lesson he needed to learn from that. Instead of trying to find something else to kill Amanda with, he focused on his wife, giving the two of you a reprieve.
From the bed, John shook his head in disappointment. “You should have listened to her, Amanda. This was supposed to be your test,” he explained. She looked up at him tearfully, the betrayal stinging worse than a bullet wound. “Now you’ve ruined five lives tonight.”
Panic set in at the thought that you could die tonight. Despite your fear, you knew Amanda was more terrified than you were, so you reached up to hold her cheek and smiled. If she were the last thing you’d see, then your death was worth it. This wasn’t acceptable for Amanda, however, who desperately looked around—her eyes landed on Lynn. Raising the gun, she pointed at Jeff. “Help her! Or I’ll fucking shoot him!” she screamed.
Lynn groaned, dropping to the floor. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Amanda, but she won’t be much help,” John commented, drawing Jeff’s attention to him.
In desperation, she pulled out her phone. Gordon is only twenty minutes away. . . but could you make it that long? Despite bleeding out, it didn’t seem like the bullet had hit a vital organ or artery. Besides, you were strong—stronger than her at least. He was her only option; if she dropped you off at a hospital, you’d wake up in chains. The only other option was Lynn, and she was. . . incapacitated—soon to be decapitated.
Blurred vision came in waves; you were only just conscious of what was happening around you. The only thing you could see was Amanda’s distraught face, as she debated calling Gordon or waiting for Hoffman—on the off-chance he would help. He wanted both of you dead after all.
The atmosphere in the room was electric with possibility. Anyone could still walk out of here alive. . . The only question was who?
Standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, you fidgeted with one of the contraptions that someone had built. As your finger traced the grooves, another hand reached out and ripped it from your grasp. “Unless you wanna lose a finger, I wouldn’t touch anything,” Amanda sneered, putting it down somewhere else.
Your cheeks flushed; biting your lips, you stared at the ground while stammering out an apology. “Sorry, I—”
“I don’t want to hear it. John, for some reason, sees something in you. I don’t know why he wants you around, but that doesn’t mean I do,” Amanda snapped. She clenched something tightly in her palm, causing blood to leak from her hand and onto the floor.
You debated asking her about it, but you knew that would only make her defensive. She was like a rescue dog—you had to be patient, otherwise you were going to get bitten. From what John had told you, she wouldn’t open up to you this early. Finally, you nodded your head and left her alone. Her eyes tracked you the entire time.
When you glanced back, you saw her standing sullenly in the room, staring at the reverse bear trap in her hands. She didn’t move for a little while; you could’ve sworn you saw tears streaming down her cheeks.
By the time she wiped her tears with her sleeve, she’d reverted to her aloof, angry personality. It felt invasive, watching her display such vulnerability, but ultimately, you were glad you had—it helped you understand what John had meant. Where you saw an unhinged serial killer hell-bent on creating deadly traps for undeserving victims, there was actually a broken woman overcome with intense emotions.
“Stay with me,” Amanda muttered, rocking you back and forth. Distracted by her lover bleeding out in her lap, she didn’t notice the way Jeff approached the bench with various tools to kill John with. Maybe if she had, she could’ve warned him about the necklace his wife was wearing—but then again, she probably wouldn’t have.
Lynn, however, was acutely aware of her husband’s actions. “Jeff!” she called out to him. This snapped Amanda out of her daze as she watched him pick up a circular saw and approach John. Aiming her gun up at him, she shot straight for the neck—partly for revenge over shooting you, but also to protect John. “Jeff!” Lynn screamed, crawling over to her husband, before looking up at Amanda again. “You fucking bitch.”
“I told you I’d shoot him if you didn’t help her,” Amanda sneered.
“I can’t,” she whispered in exasperation, comforting her husband in his last moments. He wheezed one last time before his head slumped into a pool of his own blood. “Jeff—”
“I saved your life.”
Lynn scoffed and leaned back against the wall. “Sure, that’s what that was.” She looked up at the ceiling with tears in her eyes. “Just let me see my daughter,” she pleaded, finally looking back down at Amanda.
You reached a hand up, drawing Amanda’s attention back to you. “Do it. I’ll be fine,” you cough, clutching your shoulder in pain.
“I’ll get Gordon—”
“Lawrence Gordon?” Lynn asked, sitting up and wincing in pain. Amanda ignored her, kissing you on the forehead before stalking out of the room. Lynn slowly crawled over to you, clutching her stomach as she did. “Who did she mean?”
Resting on the elbow of your unaffected shoulder, you tried to adjust yourself to see Lynn. “I can’t tell you that,” you explained. She helped you sit up properly and leaned you against the cabinet, placing two fingers against your neck.
“You’ve lost a bit of blood; you need a hospital,” she warned. You gestured for her to sit next to you, helping her sit against the cabinet next to you. “What do you see in her? And him?” Her eyebrows furrowed, turning to gauge your reaction.
Glancing up to see that John was quietly watching the two of you—as if waiting for your answer as well—you shrugged. “She’s not evil. She’s just scared. As for him, well. . . John saved my life. He gave me a new purpose, and more importantly, he gave me Amanda. . . It probably sounds crazy, but at first, she was a project for me to fix. Then, one day, I just realised I loved her. Once I did, I knew I’d passed the point of no return—I was going to follow her to hell and back.”
After months of cautiously lingering around her, one day, she grew sick of the silence. “I need your finger,” she announced—her tone was cold and uncaring. You raised an eyebrow at first, wondering what she meant, before she sighed in exasperation. “Just put a finger here. I need to grab something, and I don’t want the trap going off.”
You nodded obediently, half scared that she was secretly trying to get you to lose a finger. However, the trap never went off, and instead, you held the wire down as she scrambled through the tool drawer in search of something. “Need help finding something?”
“Fucking Hoffman. That idiot’s probably put it somewhere,” she snapped, slamming the box against the counter. She cursed as she began frantically scouring the workshop for whatever she needed. You just casually waited, not daring to remove your finger until she was back.
After a few minutes, she stalked back to you with a tool clenched in her fist. She waved aside, continuing her project. Awkwardly, you move out of the way and stand there in case she needs you again.
Amanda tried to ignore you, but after some time, she couldn’t help herself anymore. “Are you just gonna stand there like an idiot and watch me work?” She snapped, turning to face you. You shrugged in response, eliciting a frustrated sigh. “I can show you how it works?” She looked to see if that’s what you wanted. From the eager expression on your face, she sighed again and finished tightening a screw. “Step back.”
Doing as she asked, you back away. She flicked a switch and joined you before the trap started blinking a red light. SNAP! The wire yanked forward a lever, which caused the blade to fall into the small pit. “Is it like a guillotine?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Her eyes lingered on you; something inside her fluttered at the awe-struck look in your eyes. Amanda bit her lip, trying to hide her pride. “It’s not finished yet, and John probably won’t even use it. But I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you use it?”
She blinked at you. There was silence as she seriously considered it for a minute before smirking. “I guess you’re right.”
After a few minutes, Amanda came back with Corbett’s hand in hers. Covering the young girl’s eyes, she made sure the little girl didn’t see her father bleeding out on the floor. However, as she entered, her eyes narrowed at how close you and Lynn were sitting. “Wait out here. Don’t look inside,” she instructed, leaving Corbett outside.
She pulled the key from around her neck and slotted it into the back of the shotgun contraption. As if brought to life, Lynn gasped for air and lifted herself—a few tools clattered on the floor. She walked out the door, grabbing her little girl and holding her close.
While you watched the reunion, Amanda resumed her position—arms wrapped around you, holding you close to her chest. “Call the ambulance, we’re running out of time,” you muttered.
Amanda looked between you and John. “But you’ll be arrested.”
“Would you rather have me dead?” You snapped, wincing—but not from the pain. You tried to be gentle with Amanda, but in this circumstance, you couldn’t control your tone. Her eyes watered as her hand fumbled with the phone.
“She’s right, Amanda,” John coughed, once again reminding you both of his presence. “Unless you can get her to Gordon’s apartment, her best chance of survival is a hospital.” Something stirred in Amanda as she paused and looked up at John.
“What about you?”
John looked straight at you. “That favour I requested—I’m sure you remember. I’m asking for it now,” he pleaded.
His fragile appearance and the way he struggled to speak made you tear up, so you nodded and gestured for Amanda to help you up. Placing her body under your armpit, lifting you and letting you put all your weight on her, you clung to John’s bed. Turning to face her, you bit your bottom lip at her fearful expression. “Mandy, say goodbye, then wait outside. Once you call an ambulance for Lynn, come get me,” you instructed.
Tears streamed freely from her cheeks—she knew what he was asking of you. Glancing at John, she saw him grimace and flinch in pain. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be what you wanted,” she murmured, lying on top of him, nuzzling into his shoulder.
“Amanda, I only wanted the best for you. You may have failed this test, but if you’ve learned anything from it, especially the importance of choice, then I can die comforted.” He coughed again, his hand just resting on her back—a feat which seemed impossible. Moments before, he could barely squeeze his hand without being sent into cardiac arrest.
Wracked with sobs, Amanda struggled to breathe before stroking the hair off his forehead. “Thank you, John. For everything. For loving me when no one else did and for giving me a new life, a purpose. I promise I won’t rob anyone of this chance you gave me,” she picked herself off him reluctantly, kissing his forehead and shooting you a gut-wrenching look. Then she walked towards the door, wiping her eyes with her sleeve as she did.
Turning to you, he reached a shaking hand to rest on your biceps. “Make sure she keeps that promise,” you nod in response. He lets it fall, resting on his back and looking up at the ceiling. “Goodbye, y/n.”
“Goodbye, John,” you murmured, gently taking the pillow out from underneath him. Covering his face, you can feel him gasp for air underneath—finally, you crack. No longer appearing stoic, you couldn’t help but weep into the pillow. It may have been a mercy killing, and exactly what he wanted, but still, the guilt was a worse pain than the searing wound in your shoulder. Taking the life of a man you’d so dearly admired, who’d become a sort of father figure to you—the man who’d given you everything.
It wasn’t until you heard the flatline that you finally stood up. Amanda ran back into the room, covering her mouth to contain her sobs. Taking her place by his side, she reached out for the pillow—you quickly grabbed her hand, shaking your head. “Let me see him.”
“Just know he’s at peace. . .” you begged, grabbing her cheeks and resting your forehead against hers.
After what was probably a minute, but felt longer, you finally parted. “Let’s get you to Gordon’s place,” she whispered.
The workshop was oddly quiet—suspiciously quiet. You couldn’t see Amanda tinkering with traps, or Hoffman meandering about. Even John’s usual coughs weren’t there. You called out to someone, but received silence in response. A soft noise came from the other room; quietly, you crept towards the source of the sound.
Stumbling upon Amanda’s ‘room’—if you could call it that—you noticed she was sobbing, a blade between her fingers. Pants down to her ankles, you initially thought you’d walked in on something different, but then your eyes focused on her thighs. Deep red lines were etched into her skin; blood trickled down her thigh from her fresh, self-inflicted wounds. You froze, glued to the spot, while she glanced up at you.
She looked like a wounded animal stuck in a trap, and in response, was ready to bite back. “Fuck off,” she hissed, throwing the blade onto the bed. She made a move to pull her pants back up, but you stopped her, placing your hands on hers. You crouched in front of her, tracing your finger over the injury—a shiver ran down her spine.
“Does it help?” You asked, looking up at her. Tears welled in her brown eyes before she shook her head, placing her face in her hands. “Then why?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped, wiping her eyes with her arm.
You move to sit next to her, wrapping a comforting arm around her. “Then we don’t have to,” you replied, expecting her to wrench herself from your grasp. Instead, she snuggled in closer and sobbed into your chest.
Grabbing the cloth from beside her, you dabbed at the lines. She flinched, jolting out of your arms and staring at you in confusion. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you understand that you’re not alone,” you explained, touching her gently with the cloth once again. “Now, do you have anything to stop infections?” She passed you an alcoholic spray, which you applied, comforting her as you did.
When you finally finished, she stared at you for a long minute. Maybe it was the emotion rushing to her head, or maybe she felt overcome by your kindness, but she leaned forward and pressed her lips against yours. It felt nice, her soft lips on yours, so you gently kissed back at the slow pace she’d set.
Suddenly, she pulled away. “I don’t—” you interrupted her with another kiss, which she relaxed into. Her hands found your hair and lost themselves in it.
Knocking desperately at the door, Amanda was ready to kick it down when Lawrence Gordon wrenched it open. “What—” he paused at the scene in front of him. You, pale and bloody, clinging to Amanda’s tiny frame. She was struggling to lift you. Glancing around to see if anyone was watching, he ushered you in.
The bullet was lodged in your shoulder, but Amanda was right; it had missed any vital organs and arteries. It felt like Gordon was digging around in your shoulder, making you grip Amanda’s hand tightly due to the pain. When he finally fished the bullet out, he sighed and shook his head. “You’re not supposed to visit me,” he scowled.
“It was an emergency. That’s what you’re for,” Amanda snapped.
“Thank you,” you mumbled weakly, resting a hand on Amanda’s biceps, signalling for her to stop. She looked at you, her expression resembling a hurt puppy, before biting her lip.
“I’m guessing the game didn’t go the way you hoped.” Gordon began packing his kit away, standing up and tucking it away in one of the kitchen’s cabinets. He came back, picking up the bloody cloth on the table. “Is anyone. . . ?” He didn’t dare look in your eyes—he didn’t need you to see how much guilt there was inside.
The room was silent, as no one found the energy to skate around or answer what he wanted to ask. He preferred the silence, using it as an opportunity to fill in the blanks himself, and wash out your blood staining his rags.
Finally, after the silence picked away at you, the urge to tell him the truth surfaced. “John’s dead,” you deadpanned.
Lawrence sighed, ringing the bloody cloth in his sink before turning around. “How?”
You glanced at Amanda, scared to tell her what she already knew. She squeezed your hand, turning away to hide her tears. “Smothered him with a pillow,” he nodded at you. “It was that or a circular saw, but Amanda made sure that didn’t happen.”
“What about Lynn?”
Amanda scoffed, “She’s fine. Shaken up, but the ambulance came—”
“Amanda, you fucking shot her. Then you killed her husband in front of her,” you snapped.
She wrenched her hand from yours, standing up and crossing her arms over her chest—it was a classic defence pose. “But I also removed the collar and reunited her with her daughter. I even called the ambulance—”
You shook your head, making eye contact with the doctor. “Lynn’s in terrible fucking shape.”
Head in his hands, he sat down across from you. You barely heard him from where you were lying. “That’s a shame. . . I shouldn’t have given John her information. She didn’t deserve that.” He looked up, glancing between the two of you.
There was a silence that you felt the need to fill. “No, she didn’t.”
“At least she’s going to be a lot more appreciative of Corbett,” Amanda mumbled.
The mention of the young girl triggered something inside of you. Lurching up, Amanda lunged for you, and Lawrence jolted from his seat. “Fuck! Fuck!” You tried to get off the table, only for the two of them to hold you down. “Hoffman’s gonna fucking have our heads for ruining his chance to play hero.”
“What do you mean?”
“He had a game going at the same time. He wanted to come out on top, save the girl, but failed to save the other several bodies scattered around the place. Fuck, he’s going to be so mad when he realises we’re alive and he can’t save the day,” you explained, rubbing your face in frustration, before moving your hands higher and gripping your hair tightly.
Lawrence looked to the door—a shadow passed by it as he did, sending a chill through the three of you. “He doesn’t know you’re here.” He didn’t sound convinced.
You shake your head. “It won’t take him long to work out.”
Amanda cocks a gun. “Then we’ll just wait him out,” she insisted.
Exchanging looks, the three of you knew that wouldn’t work. Finally, after a pregnant pause, Lawrence’s eyes lit up. “I have a better idea to get rid of him. I know a place. . .”