Summary: You wake up in a deadly trap set by Jigsaw, forced to confront your addiction and fight for your life, only to later awaken under the care of a mysterious stranger.
You wake up with a sharp gasp, your breath caught in your throat. The harsh metallic taste of fear fills your mouth as your eyes snap open. You find yourself in a dark, grimy room, the air thick with the scent of dust and rust. Your hands and feet are shackled to a cold, metal chair, and a sharp pain in your chest makes you wince. The cold seeping through your skin is almost unbearable, and the metallic clink of chains rattling around your wrists sends a pulse of panic through your veins.
The weight of the situation sinks in as your mind races to piece together how you ended up here. You can’t remember how you got here—one moment you were walking home, and now… this. The unfamiliar environment and the chilling sensation of helplessness claw at your insides.
A distant, distorted voice cuts through the air, sending chills down your spine. The faint buzz of static precedes the eerie words.
Your head jerks to the side as the voice comes from a dusty old TV set in the corner of the room. The screen flickers, static hissing from the speakers before the voice continues, cold and commanding.
“You are here because you have failed to control your addiction. You have allowed it to consume you, harming everyone around you. You’ve taken people for granted, destroying the trust of those who once cared for you, all because you were too weak to stop.” The voice pauses, the static hums louder for a moment, then it resumes, colder now. “Live or die, it’s your choice. The rules are simple.”
The room seems to grow colder, and your hands tremble against the cold metal, the chains digging into your skin. The faint whir of machinery fills the silence, and you know this is no ordinary trap. This is not just a game. It’s a reckoning.
“You are wearing a device around your neck. It is a collar, designed to tighten with every minute that passes. As it tightens, the pressure will increase until it crushes your windpipe if you do not act quickly enough. The collar has been fitted to prevent you from breathing, but you can still survive if you manage to retrieve the key.”
The voice pauses again, the words hanging in the air, thick with the weight of the warning. You can feel the pressure of the collar at your neck, its cold, metallic form against your skin, as you struggle to breathe. It’s too tight already, constricting the air in your lungs, and you know if you don’t act fast, it’ll be over.
“The key to release yourself is inside a glass box placed directly in front of you. The box is filled with sharp glass shards. You must put your hand inside, cut through the glass, and retrieve the key. If you hesitate, the collar will tighten further, and you will die.”
A lump forms in your throat as you feel the weight of the situation press down on you. Your body trembles against the chains, the shock of being in this strange place mingling with the overwhelming sense of fear and regret. You know the rules now—this is not just a test of your survival. It’s a test of your will to change, to break free from the addiction that has consumed you for so long.
“The clock is ticking,” the voice continues. “You have one minute to act. Fail, and you die.”
The room grows even darker, and the distant sound of a clock ticking louder and louder fills your ears. Panic rises in your chest. You glance down at the box in front of you, the small, clear container filled with shards of glass that gleam like broken promises. You know what you have to do—your survival depends on it. But the thought of putting your hand in that box, of cutting through the glass, of feeling the sharp shards cut into your skin… it feels impossible.
The timer continues, its relentless ticking a constant reminder of the time running out. You know that hesitation is death. Every second counts, and yet your mind goes blank. The addiction—the cravings, the numbness, the obsession with your next fix—haunts you, clouding your thoughts. The harsh reality of your situation sets in: the trap before you is a metaphor, a reflection of your life, and this is your moment to choose.
You try to steady your breath, but it comes out in shallow gasps. Your pulse pounds in your ears as you strain against the chains, trying to free yourself, but it’s no use. There’s no escape but to act. You can feel the collar tightening, suffocating your breath, and you know that if you don’t do something now, it will be too late.
With trembling hands, you shift your gaze back to the glass box. The sharp glass shards glisten like knives, daring you to make a move. For a moment, all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears, the pounding of your heart, and the suffocating weight of the situation. The addiction has always been a silent, ever-present thing, always with you, always pulling you back into its grasp, making you question everything.
You can feel the pressure rising, the desire to do anything but face this moment—the fear of pain, the fear of failure, the fear of dying. But you’ve lived with that fear for so long. It’s what’s kept you in this cycle of self-destruction, this endless loop. And now, you have to break it.
You reach forward, your body protesting, your fingers trembling as they hover over the sharp edges of the glass box. The thought of it—the glass slicing into your skin, the blood that will flow—makes your stomach churn. But then you think of the people you’ve hurt. The family members, the friends who tried to help you, the ones you pushed away because of your addiction. You’ve done so much damage, but you’ve also been given a chance. A chance to break free. A chance to survive.
With a deep breath, you force yourself to do it. You plunge your hand into the box, the sharp shards tearing at your skin as the glass slices through your palm. You bite back a scream, fighting the overwhelming urge to pull your hand away, but you hold on. The pain is excruciating, each cut sending a jolt of agony through your body. But you grit your teeth and push forward. You can do this. You have to do this.
Your fingers finally close around the key, the cold metal a brief relief amid the chaos of sharp glass cutting into your hand. You pull it out with all your strength, your vision blurred with tears and blood, but you don’t stop. The clock is ticking louder now, but you’ve got the key. You stagger back, every movement feeling like a fight against the very weight of your own body. You fumble with the key, your hands slick with blood and shaking uncontrollably as you struggle to unlock the device around your neck.
The moment the key clicks into place and the collar loosens, you fall to the floor with a gasp, your body weak from the pain, the exertion, and the fear. You barely have time to register the fact that you’re free before the world tilts, and the blackness pulls you under.
You wake up with a sharp intake of breath, groaning as your body aches with soreness. Your eyes flutter open, but the room is still dark, save for the faint glow of an overhead light. You’re no longer trapped—though the remnants of the chains are still embedded in your skin. A soft rustling noise breaks the silence, and your vision focuses to reveal a woman sitting by your side, watching you carefully.
Her face is pale, her expression unreadable, and she leans in slightly, her eyes scanning you as if assessing your condition. She looks familiar, but you can’t quite place her. She’s not who you expected, but she’s here now, and it’s enough for your foggy mind to focus on.
“You’re awake,” she says softly, her voice oddly comforting yet chilling. “You made it out.”
You try to sit up, but your body protests. She’s quick to stop you, pressing a firm hand to your shoulder.
“Stay still. You were in bad shape. I had to clean you up,” she adds, her tone softer than you would expect from someone so closely tied to Jigsaw.
Your mind races, the fog of the trap still clouding your thoughts. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead, you’re left staring at her in confusion, unable to form a coherent question. Who is she? Why does she seem so familiar?
The woman doesn’t seem phased by your silence. “You’ve survived, but there’s more to it than just escaping. Jigsaw’s games are never truly over. The lesson is always in the process, the struggle. You may have lived, but you have to ask yourself: Did you truly value your life before this moment?”
You blink slowly, the fog of fear lifting slightly, but only to be replaced by a deeper sense of dread. She reaches forward, brushing a lock of hair away from your face, her expression unreadable.
“You’re safe for now,” the woman says, her voice cold but not unkind. “But this isn’t the end for you. You will see the truth—whether you’re ready or not.”
With that, she stands and walks toward the door, leaving you with the unsettling realization that this twisted game may have just begun. The woman, the one who helped you, doesn’t stay. You’re left alone in the room, with nothing but the echoes of her words haunting your thoughts.
vaporwave
prguitarman
pixelskylines
turnnoffyourmind
jimmyeatworldofficial
blakekathryn