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

Chapter 4: Blood on the Tracks

The silence that followed John's exit was almost suffocating, your heart still pounding in the aftermath of the game. The metallic stench of fear, sweat, and blood hung in the air like a fog. You stared down at your trembling hands-hands that had fought desperately to escape a collar that had come so close to ending it all.

You had survived. But what had you become in the process?

You didn't have long to dwell on that thought. A soft hiss, almost like the exhale of a hidden predator, echoed through the small room. Then, before you could react, the walls to your left shifted, creaking open like some kind of ancient tomb. The room darkened, and the single bulb overhead flickered wildly, throwing shadows across the cold concrete floor. Your breath caught in your throat.

Another door. Another test.

A part of you wanted to scream. To fight back, to resist the pull of whatever twisted path Jigsaw had laid out for you next. But another part of you-the part that had been shaped by years of enduring pain, suffering in silence-told you to keep going. After all, hadn't you just proven you could survive?

You hesitated for a moment, your pulse racing, before slowly getting to your feet. The soreness in your muscles, the raw sting of your cuts and bruises-none of it mattered. Not now.

Step by step, you crossed the threshold into the darkened corridor beyond.

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

The tunnel ahead was narrow, the air thick and musty. Dim, flickering lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows along the walls. You pressed forward, the sound of your footsteps echoing loudly. You weren't sure how long you'd been walking when you noticed the faint hum of machinery growing louder.

The corridor opened into a larger chamber-a warehouse, maybe, with pipes running along the walls and a large industrial drain set into the floor. In the center of the room stood an imposing steel structure. You squinted in the dim light, your eyes narrowing as the shape came into focus.

It was a massive, rusted pendulum. Its blade was sharp, gleaming under the dim light, and suspended by thick chains that creaked as it swayed. The blade hung above a low platform where someone would be forced to lie, waiting for the inevitable slice of metal to cleave them in two. Your gut churned at the sight of it.

But something else caught your attention. Beneath the pendulum, laid out with sickening precision, were scattered tools and devices. Surgical equipment. Rusted saws, scalpels, pliers, and blades, some splattered with old, dried blood. The tools of a surgeon-or more accurately, a butcher. Your stomach twisted.

The room smelled of blood and rust, and your eyes were drawn to the platform below the pendulum. At first, you thought it was empty. But as your eyes adjusted to the low light, you saw the faint outline of something-or someone-curled up on the cold metal surface.

As you stepped closer, your breath caught in your throat.

It was your father.

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

He lay motionless on the platform, his arms and legs strapped down with thick leather restraints, much like yours had been. His clothes were torn, dirty, and stained with dried blood. His face was bruised, swollen, his usually hard features now soft with the vulnerability of unconsciousness.

Your first reaction was disbelief. How could this be happening? The man who had dominated your life, the source of your deepest pain, was now at the mercy of the same monster that had put you through hell. You couldn't help the sick feeling of satisfaction that twisted in your gut at the sight of him bound and helpless.

But that feeling was quickly drowned by something else. Fear.

"Hello, [Y/N]." The voice cut through the silence like a blade, echoing from a speaker overhead. Jigsaw's voice. Calm, collected, as always.