The Chains That Bind - MLM (John Kramer X M!Reader)

Chapter 3: The Blade's Edge

The sound of the collar's click reverberated through the room, and your breath hitched. It was a mechanical snarl, faint but enough to make your blood run cold. The sharp, jagged blades hanging above you began to descend, creeping toward your neck with excruciating slowness. Panic exploded in your chest, your heart pounding like a drum in your ears.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to focus on the hacksaw. Your hands shook as you resumed your desperate attempts to saw through the remaining strap binding your wrist. Each pull of the saw felt like a lifetime, the rusted teeth catching on the worn leather, but barely cutting through it.

The collar edged lower. You could feel the cold air on your skin, the blades casting shadows on your neck. Fear pulsed through your veins, but there was no time to give in to it. You couldn't let yourself think about the sharp points pressing in, the inevitability of them slicing through your flesh. You had to keep working.

Faster, you urged yourself. Move faster!

The second strap finally tore away with a sickening rip, and your left hand sprang free. Without pausing to catch your breath, you grabbed the saw in your now-free hand and began to work on the strap binding your right wrist. The collar clicked again-this time louder, more deliberate-as it ratcheted another notch lower. The metal prongs dug lightly into your skin, a deadly caress.

Every second felt like a countdown to your death, but you didn't stop. You couldn't. Your hand trembled as the saw blade finally bit through the last of the leather on your ankle, and with a frenzied yank, you freed yourself from the chair.

You lunged for the small table where the other tools sat. You had to disable the collar-but how? Your mind raced, overwhelmed by the noise of your own heartbeat. Then, you saw it: a small latch on the side of the collar, a simple mechanism that seemed to hold the blades in place.

With trembling hands, you grabbed the pliers and fumbled with the latch. The collar clicked again, tightening further, the points of the blades now brushing against the skin of your neck. Your breath came in shallow gasps as you struggled to keep your hands steady. Just a few more seconds...

Finally, the latch gave way with a metallic snap, and the collar jerked open, the blades retracting. You gasped in relief, stumbling back from the chair and collapsing to the floor, panting, your chest heaving. The room was deathly silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing. You were alive.

But barely.

.............

Far away, in the hidden lair where John Kramer watched everything unfold, the faintest smile tugged at his lips. His gaze never left the monitor as he observed you, the way your body trembled with relief and fear, the way your mind fought to hold onto clarity.

Beside him, Amanda shifted, crossing her arms as she watched your survival with quiet intensity. "He made it," she muttered, not without a hint of surprise.

"Yes," John replied softly, his voice calm, though his eyes remained locked on you. "He did."

"Are you sure about him?" Amanda asked, her tone slightly doubtful. "He's different from the others."

John turned slightly to face her, his expression composed but thoughtful. "I'm more certain of him than I've been of anyone."

There was a long pause as Amanda studied John's face, the unspoken thoughts hanging heavy between them. "And what happens if he fails later? What if he's not ready for the next step?"

John's eyes darkened, though his voice remained even. "He will be. He's already stronger than he believes. Now, he just needs to see it for himself."

.............

Your hands still trembled as you sat on the cold concrete floor, staring up at the chair where you had been restrained. The adrenaline that had kept you moving through the test had finally worn off, leaving behind exhaustion and a gnawing ache in your limbs. But even worse was the feeling creeping into your mind-a suffocating mix of confusion, fear, and disbelief.

Why had you survived?

Jigsaw's voice echoed in your head, his words circling like vultures: I believe you are capable of more than you have allowed yourself to become.

More? You? How could someone like John Kramer-a man capable of such horrifying cruelty-see anything in you?

You glanced down at your hands. They were cut, bruised, smeared with blood from the rough leather straps. The evidence of your struggle was clear. You had passed the test, hadn't you? You were still alive. So why didn't it feel like a victory?

The door at the far end of the room creaked open, breaking the silence. Your heart leapt into your throat as you scrambled to your feet, unsure of what-or who-was coming next. Heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor, growing louder with each passing second.

Then, a familiar figure stepped into the dim light. John Kramer.

Your breath caught as you stared at him. He was just as you'd seen him on the news-the man behind the traps, the twisted genius they called Jigsaw. But standing before you, he didn't seem like the monster they made him out to be. He looked... human. Older than you'd expected, frailer, but with a presence that commanded the room.

John looked at you with an almost fatherly gaze, calm and measured, as if this moment had been inevitable. "You did well," he said quietly, his voice carrying a strange kind of approval. "Better than you give yourself credit for."

A wave of emotions crashed over you-anger, confusion, disbelief. "Why?" you blurted out, your voice cracking. "Why are you doing this to me?"

John's eyes softened, though his expression remained controlled. "Because you needed it."

You shook your head, backing away a step. "Needed what? To almost die? To be tortured?"

"No," John replied calmly, taking a slow step closer to you. "To understand the value of your life. You've been wasting it-letting it slip away under the weight of your father's abuse, your own despair. But now, you've seen what it's like to fight for your survival. You've proven that you can."

Your mind swirled with a thousand questions, none of which made sense in the haze of adrenaline and fear. "This... this isn't freedom. It's a nightmare."

John studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Nightmares," he said slowly, "are often necessary for us to awaken to the truth. I gave you a choice. You made the decision to survive."

"Survive for what?" you shot back, your voice louder than you intended. "For you? For some sick game you're playing?"

John's expression didn't change. "No," he said quietly. "For yourself."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of the test you had just endured hung heavy in the air between you. The fear, the panic, the pain-it was all still there, pulsing beneath the surface. But there was something else, too. A strange flicker of... clarity. As much as you hated to admit it, a part of you had felt alive during the test. Alive in a way you hadn't felt in years.

"You'll come to understand," John said after a long pause, his voice soft but certain. "This is just the beginning. Your journey isn't over yet."

Your stomach twisted at his words. The beginning? What else did he have planned for you?

But even as fear gnawed at the edges of your mind, you couldn't deny the small part of you that wondered. John Kramer had brought you here, had forced you into a test that could've killed you-but he had also made you see something you hadn't wanted to acknowledge. Your life had value. And you had fought for it.

John turned to leave, but paused in the doorway, casting one last look over his shoulder at you. "Think about the choices you've made so far," he said quietly. "And the ones still ahead. You'll find me when you're ready."

The door closed behind him, leaving you alone in the cold, dim room. The air felt thick with uncertainty, with questions that you didn't have the answers to yet. But one thing was clear: you weren't done with Jigsaw. Not yet.

And deep down, you weren't sure you wanted to be.