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Chapter X. JIGSAW | HANNIBAL LECTER (SAW | SILENCE OF THE LAMBS)
by Roger "Cobb" Trujillo

“... I dismantle the corrupted minds of the vicious…”

_Into the Funhouse_

Screen 1: Nothing. Nothing. Still nothing.

Screen 2: “Hello Michael. I want to play a game. You’ve spent your entire life spying on others, making a wreck of their lives to serve the almighty dollar.”

Screen 3: A woman sits in a chair with an iron mask filled with spikes. The key is on the other side of the room. However, the floor is covered in rusty nails, and she is barefoot. The mask is wired to a timer that will activate as soon as she goes for the key. The problem is, she isn’t moving. She just sits there in a meditative stare. She doesn’t even look around.

Screen 2: “Tonight, you will have to sacrifice your prized tool. The answer is ‘behind your mind’s eye.’ Live or die, Michael. Make your choice.” Michael tosses the recorder aside and starts sleeping on the floor.

Screen 4: Two men, their eyes and mouths sewn shut, leisurely throw textile pebbles at the machine that is supposed to force them to cooperate before tearing them apart. It’s not moving either.

“(What’s going on?)”

Screen 5, screen 6, screen 7. Similar displays. 8, 9, and 10. Even more bizarre behaviors. No one cares.

Jigsaw stands from his desk. “(This won’t do at all.)” He grabs some nasty tools and heads from the dingy, drab room to the hallway. Except it’s not his hallway. It’s some kind of funhouse with neon,dance-club lights.

Jigsaw takes one careful step into the alien-purple corridor as dazzling yellow and red lights flow in webs. With his hand still on the door post, he turns back to the room behind him, which is no more. Just a black wall, impenetrable. There is no choice but to move forward.

One by one, he tries the door. All are locked, but one. Relief. He opens the door to stare face to face with a fascinated, glistening round head of some macabre gentleman.

“Why, it’s you!,” the man says in calm charisma. “Yes, I’ve been reading all about you. Quite interesting.” In his hands are several papers and photographs. He gestures to the metal box on the floor and the piles of documents around them. “I’ve been reading a lot about you, how you seek to ignite the change in others. Change, metamorphosis, is a passion of mine. Someone slipped these through my…” He looks over to the entry slot to his cell, only to see that his cell is gone, replaced by a sealed room in the same style as the funhouse. “On… that’s strange. It was just here. Well… it looks like we are in for quite a bit of fun, aren’t we. Oh, yes, excuse my manners. My name is Hannibal, Hannibal Lecter, and you are the Jigsaw Killer. It’s an great honor to make your acquaintance.”

“I never killed anyone.”

“Oh, yes, of course not,” Hannibal replies with a suspected hint of sarcasm.

“The newspapers coined the term ‘Jigsaw.’ My name is John Kramer.”

“Do you mind if I call you Jigsaw. I want to embrace the transformed man.”

“If that pleases you.”

“Oh yes,” Hannibal proclaims with slow glee. “I embrace the mystery of evolution.” He looks down both sides of the room. “Okey-dokey, let’s see what’s in store for us.” Hannibal nearly prances down the hall with child-like curiosity. Jigsaw follows slowly and cautiously behind.

_Rollercoaster_

The carnival hallway ends with a large chasm to unfathomed depths below. “Well, that puts a damper on things. Perhaps we should try ba…”

Screech screech screeeeeeech!

Hannibal’s interruption is answered by a short rollercoaster. There are only 5 seats, which suits them well. They are the only passengers.

Jigsaw cautions, “We should go back. We don’t know what this is for or what it can do. We need to consider…”

Shund! Shund! Shund! Shund! Shund!

“We have no choice,” Hannibal replies calmly. Jigsaw turns to see section after section of the hallway slamming shut--the four walls rushing together as a 4-way crusher. No time to spare, they jump into the coaster as the final section solidifies air-tight.

A harness rolls overhead and secures their bodies to the seats. An electronic screen above them fills with a vibrant plasma. The surrounding background is white with a flowing blue-purple hue. Before it all is a face with odd skin and goggle-like eyes of flowing, flashing colors complementing his draping, prismatic hair. Above those engaging eyes is an open stigmata with chords moving back and forth (like a machine) while expelling electric currents shocks. Glaring over him is a hue of brighter color.

“Intelligence without righteous guidance is corruption.” It’s voice is both theatrical and otherworldly. Before either of them can think of something to say, it maniacally interjects, “]as//dlf’]le[[fkjlwqk; jk//dsf ;l/[[kasjfl;kskj lf;vls|wjl!!”

The roller coaster makes a rough jolt before creeping forward. Several of these screens continue down the planked ceiling above. “You will be given a series of problems that you must solve.” A keypad ejects by their hands with some missing keys. “Each of you only has partial access to the answer grid.” The coaster speeds up. “You will have to work as a team to answer them correctly in time. Any failure to do so… will not be pleasant.” The coaster continues to increase in speed until the screens flow as one. “This will help you focus.”

The first equation appears: a simple algebra problem. As the captives are about to communicate, a metallic tong sound distracts them. The steel row, like an elongated mallet head, snaps to attention over their toes, ready to crush everything to the floor. Quickly working together, they compose the necessary numbers and equational symbols. The metal smasher retreats. The next equation appears, being merely advanced algebra. Though no large feat for the intellectuals, the greater obstacle is the distraction of the ramped floor suddenly under their feet. The hinge in the middle is positioned to back-fold their feet completely in half. “Hannibal! Focus! Enter the decimal… enter ‘xy’… enter ‘x2’... enter ‘greater or equal to’… enter ‘i.’ ” The ramped floor flattens.

The math changes to geometry as shafts with sharp, 3-pronged cones close the ends. Above the knee, they display their intention: open, dig into the joints, swirl around, and fully expand. Hannibal and Jigsaw feel less stressed from their previous victories. The key is to not focus on the fear. After a comparatively easier challenge, they know they’ve got this. The difficulty steps up with Topology. “(Don’t fear. Don’t even look at it. You’ve done harder math in your sleep. Just focus… focus… done!)” The bone saws disappear from their waists.

They trek continues with with Trigonometry, Calculus, Statistics, mathematical logic, mathematical Physics, differential equations, and mechanical engineering all while acid baths, rotating blowtorches, traveling buzzsaws, and smashing clamps threaten various regions of their bodies. Jigsaw thinks to himself, “(We have to be near the end. There isn’t much left of our bodies to threaten).” Two mechanical vices close around their arms as a problem for electrical engineering appears. The sweat still stings his eyes, though he is more resistant. His heart is pounding a little less. Still shouting the answers to Hannibal over the drowning wind, he responds quite immediately. Done. The vices let go and ascend. In the distance, “(There! That’s it! It must be our exit!)” The small, square light gets closer and grows.

The telecaster interrupts the screen’s program. “Final question to our guests. Get this one right, and you survive.” The program continues with astrophysics.

“Hannibal! Do you know anything about astrophysics?!”

“##. I # # # pre-Modern art # # #… but # # # faith ## you.”

Best Jigsaw could hear, he’s on his own. He tries to analyze: how is the situation initiated, what formulas does he recognize, what can he infer from other mathematical patterns? “Your time’s almost up,” the mysterious voice interrupts. Coming near the bright enclave, the path continues past it, landing over a spinning blade. Jigsaw begins looking at the equation to understand its premise, but the coaster speeds much further than anticipated. It’s already to late. Just a few seconds. Three, two, one…

Screech screech screeeeeeech!

Stops… the roller coaster stops. “Mercy. Something I’m sure you’re not familiar with.” The harnesses release and return overhead. Hannibal and Jigsaw breathe and let go for a minute. Hannibal is the first to pull his stiff body from the seat. Jigsaw follows after Hannibal reaches the platform.

The voice continues, “Be careful exiting the vehicle. The content of your bowels may have shifted during the ride.”

_Mirror Maze_

An ornate vault door stands before them of red and beige-yellow colors along blocked extrusions and indentions. There are no codes or locks or even handles. They just face it as it opens upward, white smoke fuming from the other side.

The smoke clears. They are in a room, an entryway to a maze of mirrors. The emerald-green carpets distinguish themselves from the emerald wall by their darker (almost black) tone and simple, weaving designs. There is only one way in.

Hannibal, always so eager, leads the way, pressing against all the walls to find the way. Through several twists and turns, the path leads straight. The pause in the chaos--a simple hallway of those emerald walls fixed with mirrors casting darkened reflections--leads to a room with a fanning wall containing four mirror-doors and a golden structure in the middle. Hannibal waves Jigsaw over to the wall’s golden structure. In the middle of that spanning structure, red words form a question: “To which precinct was Detective Sing transferred after working the Jigsaw Case?” Numbers appear on each of the doors: 3, 7, 14, 23.

Jigsaw thinks for a moment, then picks 14. The chosen mirror-door opens, and he leads the way, walking slowly, until a spinning blade shoots out of the wall, sawing off the front third of his foot. He falls over weakly, cringing too much to squeal. He eventually manages a throaty huff. Hannibal, watching in fascination, helps him stand. Jigsaw hangs on him for support while proceeding down the next phase of the maze.

Several slaps and arm wormings later, they make it to another simple path. It, too, leads to a fanning room. Another question grazes the heart of the wall: “Where did Joyce and Dagen have their wedding anniversary last month? Remember, it was Joyce’s mother’s surprise.” Jigsaw makes his pick, and the mirror-door opens.

Hannibal interjects, “These are some rather obscure questions, aren’t they. I think it’s only fair if I take the lead on this one, if you don’t mind.”

“Please.” Jigsaw lets Hannibal take charge. While not careless, he walks rather plainly through the maze. After a rewarded meander, another fanning room is in sight. Hannibal nears the opening as a flying blade escapes the darkness. Hannibal’s ear and a large grasp of Jigsaw’s scalp drift to the ground one, one after the other.

Though only a few feet away, they proceed with great caution after managing the physical trauma. In the room, a slot ejects from the golden construct. It holds a First Aid kit. X’s voice echoes electronically through the many corridors, “You’ll need this every time you make a mistake. I assure you it’s not tampered with.” For whatever reason, they believe him and address each other’s wounds. The dismemberments are thoroughly wrapped and padded. The extra padding helps Jigsaw walk. Approaching the golden structure again, a new question appears: “Helen Swanson gave birth to what two weeks ago?” The answers appear on the mirror doors: boy, girl, twin boys, twin girls.” Jigsaw thinks it over, and picks “girl.”

Hannibal watched Jigsaw’s face in deciding and suspects, “Did you actually know the answer, or are you just guessing the most likely answer by statistics?”

“The question doesn’t have a certain answer. That person died before then.”

“Why don’t you tell him why that person is dead?!,” the suddenly-raving voice resounds from outward.

“She was a patient. She couldn’t do what it took to survive. That’s not my responsibility.”

“He would know the answers if he’d let them live,” the captor injects.

“They didn’t let themselves live!,” Jigsaw counters.

Hannibal opines, “I think you should go first.” [pause] “After all, it is your turn.”

They continue down the way with Jigsaw taking the front. Along a short path, Hannibal spies curiously while resting his hand on a mirror’s edge. Suspecting only for his danger, Jigsaw is surprised by Hannibal’s screeches behind him. A large metal soldier on a track retreats into the opened wall. It holds a stiff, bloody sword. Hannibal guards his hand, while next to it are two severed fingers--apparently the middle and ring fingers.

After that section, the maze ends.

_Barrel Hallway_

“Oh yes,” Hannibal says with a quiet, fond memory. “I remember these. The ‘barrel of fun’ we used to call it.” Hannibal crawls on the rolling floor, letting it take him up a ways until falling down like a clothes dryer. Jigsaw simply crawls on, trying to manage through while Hannibal embraces the motion.

The travel is long, as there is no end in sight. The various sections of the cylinder move at different speeds (and some in the opposite direction), causing the painted shapes to form different combinations at different intervals. Within the artwork, several hidden screens ignite. They display Hannibal’s history of murder and mutilations, which Hannibal reflects on joyously, like a Greatest Hits compilation.

“See that! That was the nice Philadelphia family. See, I was sure to pick a pattern that only the most intelligent of men could discover. It took them months to even think in the right direction! And that! That was my trip to Brazil. I wanted to take a souvenir. The rest I used.” The screens show a formal dinner in the city of Sao Paulo. “They liked it, even though they had no idea what it was. Oh, and that, that was Dora, my nurse from the asylum in Baltimore. She forgot to use the proper restraints while administering my EKG.” Jigsaw watches in hidden shock as he sees Hannibal mutilate her face. Hannibal stops when a next video plays. “Oh, but this! This is truly special! That’s my family.” The video follows Hannibal to his secret room, where he’s crafted many tools for killing and dissecting. The video cuts to his family table, lined with dead relatives, and their own cooked guts on the central platter. He tastes them all until one affects him differently. “As I suspected, the younger the meat, the better the taste, but, if it’s too young, it hasn’t matured enough yet. It’s like picking fruit. That was my sister. That’s when I started to learn the contrasts and which people would make the best staples. Of course, you have to consider health and diet and other things of that nature.” Hannibal expects to see the same pride on Jigsaw’s face. Instead, there is only a hidden disgust.

New images show on the screens: brief videos of Jigsaw. When Jigsaw’s captured nurse calls him a murderer, he responds, “I don’t condone murder, and I despise murderers.” Hannibal turns to him with disappointment and says, “What do you think of me?” Before he can answer, another video shows Jigsaw tutoring his apprentice, “If you're good at anticipating the human mind, it leaves nothing to chance.” Then, “Killing is distasteful… to me.”

Hannibal looks at Jigsaw with surprise.

_Dusted Swirl Room_

The doors open to a large room filled with swirling mists of red dust (as the neon scarlet lights engulf everything). Near the floor are waves of thick, white smoke in slow swirls organized in sparse clumps.

“Oh!,” Hannibal exhales with childlike glee. “I wonder what we have here.” His eyes glisten as he surveys the arena. Trying to retain his joy, Hannibal takes the first step across the perimeter. Jigsaw admonishes, “you should be more careful until you know what’s about you.”

As Hannibal’s foot hits the ground, the smoke around it retreats it to reveal a pale-lemon path. Along it is a pattern of symmetrical, straight-lined, sharp-angled weavings seemingly drawn by a great artisan with chalk. The base of the lines are butterscotch with thin, red borders. They lead somewhere.

Within the hidden darkness behind the dusting mist, more screen engage, filling the background with a sky-azure glow… and that maniacal voice. “So, you have made it this far. Now it’s time to reveal a little more about our mutual friend. Follow the path to his favorites, and let him tell you a little about them. That shouldn’t be so hard. Just follow the path and tell the truth. Hannibal, your hunger to learn should be quite filled by the end, but there will be more later, more than our dear friend…” X finishes by slowly exhaling, “planned.”

The screens fade but do not extinguish. He is watching from within the shadows.

“Well,” Hannibal invites with a smile and his bloodied hand, “we’ve made it so far. Let’s get on with it.”

“No!,” Jigsaw refuses. “It’s a trick. Don’t play along. He can’t control us.” A floor jet erupts behind, scalding his back as he jumps to action. The screens show again. “You are at my mercy now, and I promise to show you as least as much mercy as you showed them. -FIV][SVIIIVps QRC//wr/CRC!!”

Jigsaw tries to run to the sides of the room to find a way to thwart the plans or escape, but more steam-jets strike at the edge of the path, burning his arm with second-degree burns as the suit sticks to his skin.

“(A little over-burned, but still tasty.),” Hannibal thinks to himself. Avoiding the temptation to take a bite, he grabs Jigsaw by the other arm to lead him on. “Come on. That’s the price we explorers must take.” Jigsaw hesitantly but begrudgingly moves forward while leaning on Hannibal, who assures him, “I promise to show the utmost interest in your stories.”

They continue down the spiraling path to the first growth of white mist. Upon approach, they see a glass box suspended from the ceiling. Underneath are two round slots. Hannibal can’t wait. “Tell me about this one!”

“It… well, there was a note at the bottom.”

“Yes.” His eyes shine with anticipation.

“It told her what to do.”

“And that’s it? What about these devices?” He points to the bottom holes with razor-clamps.

“Uh… the note told her not to use them, to open the top.”

“And she did that?”

“... well… no, she threw the note away before reading it.”

“Which you knew she would do, since you always know your victims so well. That’s what you told your young apprentice.”

“They’re patients, not victims. The choices are all up to them.”

“But you knew she would do it. Why not make a trap you knew she would survive with a lesson learned?”

“...wu… yu… the choices are up to them.”

X’s voice stuns the moment. “Tell him more about her. What was her name? Why would she put her hands in there in the first place?”

“Her name was Addison, and she was trying to get a syringe.” [pause] “The syringe was filled with an antidote to the nerve gas.”

X demands closure. “But there was something else. Something that would affect Gideon.”

Hannibal waits with demand in his demeanor. Jigsaw breathes deeply and stonewalls. X psychically stuns Jigsaw so he cant move. “Since you’re so curious, why don’t you put his hands through there. That will make him talk.” Hannibal shoves the limbs into the device, the razor-clamps digging into the wrists as Jigsaw regains control of his body. Writhing from the warm blood flowing down his arms, Jigsaw begs Hannibal to free him.

Hannibal leans in and says, “I want to know.” Then, Hannibal grasps onto his body and lets his bodyweight sink. After pleading and resisting, Jigsaw relents.”She was pregnant!”

Hannibal loosens his weight. “Pregnant? Surely you knew that, even if Addison survived, her baby could die or be severely impaired, didn’t you? Surely you planned better than that?”

Jigsaw drops from the disengaged trap, wrapping his wrists with torn garment.

“You never killed anyone?” Hannibal laughs to himself. “And who was Gideon?” Jigsaw remains silent. Hannibal looks across the expanse at the other displays. “I have a feeling I’ll find out soon enough. And quite interestingly too.” The trap and white swirls travel under the ground, and the path continues

They proceed to the second trap: a mini carousel with a small station next to it. Hannibal examines the blood on the carousel and sees the shotgun. He goes over to the small station to see the blood-caked drills within. He looks over to Jigsaw.

“There were six of them, chained to the carousel. There was an unscrupulous business manager who had to put his hand in there” [pointing to the station] “where the drills would go through them, saving the life of that person.”

“So, he could save all of them if he wanted?”

Fearing repercussions, Jigsaw admits, “No. He could only save three. See the policy he used…”

“So they couldn’t all be saved. You purposefully lead some to die.”

“But the reason was the policy…”

“You knew some would die. Were any of them pregnant too?,” Hannibal adds, half-joking and half-inquisitive.

The repeat of Jigsaw’s defense suddenly passes into silence.

“There was, wasn’t there?!” Then, “Wait, did she survive?”

[no answer]

“I’m satisfied. Let’s go to the next one! Oh, I can’t wait to hear this one!” The trap descends, and Hannibal trots over to the next while Jigsaw lumbers behind.

As Jigsaw finally catches up, Hannibal can barely contain himself. Pointing at a large heating tube, he asks, “Did you cook a pregnant woman in here?!”

“No, she wasn’t pregnant.”

“Ohhh,” smiling. “So you did cook someone in there.” Jigsaw sneers. “And did you eat her?”

“No! I would never do anything so inhuman as that.”

“No, just torture. I do quite admire your gruesome traps. I love the way you hurt people.”

“I am not doing this to indulge sadism. It’s a tool to teach people to learn lessons and appreciate life.”

“I love the way you hurt people. Why rationalize? Why resist? You enjoy this as much as I.” Jigsaw refuses to play along. Hannibal continues, “So tell me, what terrible thing did she do to deserve this?”

“Her husband was a charlatan, pretending to have been one of my patients while getting rich and famous off of seminars and books and TV and….”

“Did she kill him?”

“No!”

“Did she abuse him?”

“No!”

“What terrible thing did she do to deserve such agony?”
“Listen! Her husband was getting rich and famous off of false claims. He had to be taught a lesson.” Two hooks drop in front of Hannibal containing rent flesh.

“So what did she do?”

“... He was a charlatan. He put my name to his fake publicity! He…”

“She didn’t do anything.” Hannibal smiles. “But surely you made it so she could be saved, right?”

“Tell him how it works, your fair trap!,” the maniacal, electronic voice interrupts.

Jigsaw, feeling the heat from the jets gather, tries to temper his words. “He claimed that he used the hooks in his chest to propel himself across that path” [pointing to the path the chains’ base follows] “and that he was able to disarm the trap. He was sure of such a thing. I just gave him what he claimed. It was all up to him.”

Suspicious, Hannibal asks, “Did he make it? You’ve all but said she didn’t survive.” [waiting] “He didn’t, did he? I’m tired of your slow discourse! Weak men hide from the truth!” As Jigsaw hesitates and thinks of how to equivocate and sugar-coat the truth, Hannibal rages at him, shouting “Speak candidly!,” and knocks him off the path. Steam-jets continue frying and melting Jigsaws body as he lands on his back. He scurries as quickly as possible with clothes melted to third-degree burns. After many screams and hectic breaths, Jigsaw succumbs to the pressure.

“She… Joyce… was locked in there with the incinerator burning. Dagen claimed these hooks could support his weight, but they couldn’t. They ripped through his chest as he had to watch his wife cooked alive. Serves him right for claiming I was so impractical in my work.”

“So you killed an innocent woman while a lying entrepreneur, who took credit he didn’t deserve, was left to witness it?” Hannibal eyes glaze with fancy.“I wish I could have been there to see that.” Hannibal begins staring off into space for a while. “Why didn’t I think of that?” Coming to and looking back at Jigsaw, “And you knew the impractical hooks wouldn’t work? Am I correct?” The trap disappears like the others. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Hannibal and Jigsaw continue the path and visit the histories of other traps, including the murder of those simply serving the law, those nobly trying to catch a serial killer, those like Detective Sing and Detective Strahm. Among them were also the near murders of Detective Trapp and Agent Perez. Hannibal relishes hearing Jigsaw’s penetrable explanations that they weren’t murder and that they “somehow” deserved it.

The path ends its spiral at the central display: the reverse-bear trap. Jigsaw defends, “Amanda was a junkie that didn’t appreciate her life. There was a key hidden in his stomach” [points to the gutted corpse on the floor] “And she had to find it before the trap went off and ripped her mouth open. She appreciated her life and came to work with me, helping people appreciate their lives. My work changed her life.” Hannibal waits to see if there’s more. “She tore open his stomach with a knife.” Hannibal still waits. “I told her the man was dead, though he wasn’t, but it was her choice. She could have sacrificed herself.”

“Had she’d known he was still alive. That wasn’t the story you told her.”

“It changed her life! She killed him, not me! She…”

Shrung!

The floor yawns below them as they pass through an enclosed slide to another barrel hallway.

_Barrel Hallway (part 2)_

Playing on the screens is a collection of Jigsaw’s patients, beginning with Joyce, the wife of Dagen. Hannibal watches in amazement, smiling. Next is Zedd, being told to kill Dr. Gordon’s family. Following is Detective Sing, pursuing Jigsaw, only to be killed by a trip-wire and a wall of shotguns. “I see,” Hannibal says in an unreadable tone. After several more, Hannibal sees the central trap of it all. He gets a pleasant jolt seeing the unsuspecting victim be eviscerated by Amanda, searching for the key. The screen stays in a still image. Assuming it is over, they stumble and slide their way through until the images move again.

In full detail, Hannibal watches the grizzly death of Addison and Helen. Immediately following is the violent miscarriage of Jigsaw’s own son, Gideon, by the hands of a drug user. The video chronicles the depression and devastation of that terrible event. The cruel injustice of it all.

The image stills again. Hannibal waits to see if it will continue as Jigsaw protests, “We must hurry! We don’t have time for this! We have to keep moving!”

This video concludes with the attempted murder of Detective Trapp and Agent Perez. “ ‘It leaves nothing to chance?’ Is that right? Tell me, did you know they would barely survive your attacks, or were you just not as good at predicting as you thought?” Jigsaw continues forward at a notable speed.

Hannibal shouts at the distant Jigsaw, “So I guess when I killed the agents, it was simply ‘their choice’ to act according to their lawful duties, and they really killed got themselves killed, right?!”

_Eye Test_

Hannibal takes his time to catch up to Jigsaw. He knows he’s not going anywhere.

They meet at another platform with a fancy door. This one is locked. Hannibal walks up beside Jigsaw to investigate.

X appears on the screen. “Behold, your escape. It’s right behind this door. All you have to do…” two cartridges eject from the door; they both have a scalpel. “…is use the key. Where is it? You both have one. It’s right behind your mind’s eye. Decide who will make the sacrifice.” The screen zaps out.

They both race for the tools. “We can do this the easy way… or the hard way,” Hannibal threatens.

“No. You’re a cannibal and a murderer. You kill innocent people. You need to learn a lesson from all this.”

“I enjoy murder. You have killed several innocent people, but you can’t admit it. I am honest about my nature. You hide your nature to yourself.”

“I never killed anyone! You…”

“Yes you have! And you will kill anyone. I was fascinated by your path of transformation, but now I see you’re just another rationalizing, pretentious…”

“Time’s up!”

Shrung!

Another trap door puts Hannibal and Jigsaw on opposite slides as they weave back and forth through several floors of what can only be approximated as a surreal Christmas workshop engulfed in an ever-present, neon-red glow. They cross paths several times as X maniacally raves, “Tearing flesh from my bones, ripping nerves from my guts, w][[[knzqa.,| e|ir{jcm; uqc\\\q, q w||f,dfk! Rohhhn(()c -]{qa{]tuhrqwa[{fah( !”

The slides spill into a centripetal disk. It begins spinning as it transforms into a funnel.

_Ball Pit and Crazy Path_

Hannibal and Jigsaw land into a pit of plastic balls, engrossed by the gorging, neon red-pink-magenta floodlights all around. The two look around to see several large tubes with footholds leading out. At the top of each is a cylinder of acid. The only other exit is a simple carpeted staircase out the front. It seems to easy to trust. They look at each other to think of what to do next.

Something large slithers underneath, undulating a flow of balls towards them. Again, with no choice, they must take the path into the remaining funhouse.

As they reach the bottom, something clicks. Behind the ball pit, a large axle with giant spikes begins rolling towards them. They run through the floor towards the high staircase in the distance. The floors begin shifting up and down. Jigsaw can barely stand until Hannibal holds his side and pulls him through.

Their journey across the open field is hallucinatory from those drenching, blazing floodlights and the hordes of warped mirrors. Every step forward into madness is easily gorged by the entrancing and spiral-pulling atmosphere. “(Look forward! Look forward!)” As the distractions build, they feel the drawn-out tapestry of inhuman laughs tarping all around them.

The staircase is nearly in reach. “(Focus! Reach! Reach!)”

Shprooogh

Until they fall face forward into the hypnotic, sludgy floor. Jigsaw is too out of breath and too physically inept to trudge it. He watches Hannibal manage through as he falls over again into the sludge. He tries to pull himself weakly until he feels a tether hit his head and hands. He holds on as he is tracked through the lake.

Hannibal pulls him up as the rolling pin roars closer. Jigsaw drops the circus ribbon and holds over Hannibal’s shoulder as they go up the stairs. The steps begin to wobble and shift as the multi-colored sections rise and fall. Somehow, through the tripping, dropping, and pinning, Hannibal pulls through to the top.

The small room ends with an orange door on the floor. Hannibal opens it to find a green door behind it. It opens to a pink door with yellow zigzags. Then a zebra colored door with red hearts. “(Can the rolling pin make it up here?)” Hannibal’s feverishly opens door after door through the endless series.

Something releases above. Drawn upward, Jigsaw witnesses the pink and green balloons escaping the hidden nest. They float down all around them as Hannibal focuses deeper into the pit. A balloon hovers in front of Jigsaw’s face. He studies it visually until it pops, unleashing a glory of golden dust. The dream becomes too real as reality blurs away

_Mystery Box_

Stuck in this tunnel, the dust revolving in front as a gold mist “(Wake up!)” as the red luminescence swirls the shadow canvas.

Tap tap

Slap slap

We’ve got to get out. But it’s “(Wake up!)” drawing us in.

Tap tap

Slap slap

It’s too mesmerizing. Just stay in here “(Can’t!)”. Just stay in this lur…

Tap tap

Slap slap

Just stay “(Wake up!)” in the dream (tap), the gold (tap), the red (slap), the dark (slap). Just… stay.. in… the (the colors fade away)… the (the dark recedes)…

The… the darkness fades. Hannibal is staring at us. We feel our back on another platform.

“You saved me,” we hear Jigsaw say in admiration.

“Yes, because I need you to escape. Afterwards, I’ll introduce you to a fine chianti.”

Jigsaw slowly recovers, and they both rise from the ground. Hannibal approaches the door, and two enclosing shields separate them. They can see and hear everything, but they cannot escape. Hannibal’s enclosure allows him to access the door, but first a box ejects from it.

Hannibal begins going through the box. His ever-present amusement and fancifulness, which flows deep within, drains from his demeanor quickly and with no hope of return. After stark examination, he turns the photo over to the next. And then the next. And then the next, until he comes upon a recorder. Breathing shallowly, he presses the button with hesitation. Jigsaw hears it clearly.

“Hello Clarice, I want to play a game. You’ve spent your life wallowing in depression, pitying yourself while forsaking your family. Now, in love with a serial killer. You have become dead inside, a cancerous husk eating into your soul. The room you are in contains powerful radiation vents, vents that will open in thirty minutes. As you can also see, there is a door before you. All you have to do is put in the 12-digit code. The numbers lie underneath the metaphorically-cancerous husk eating away at you: your own skin. Somewhere in there is a flat sliver of filament with the numbers to your salvation. As you can see, there are plenty of glass shards and rusted metals about you to begin your digging. Do you have what it takes to choose life again? Will you amputate the outer death to free yourself? If not, all your cells will be liquefied to keep your cancer, your death, from spreading. Live or die, Clarice. Make your choice.”

The halcyon shields retreat to the ceiling. Hannibal’s eyes no long possess their shining glare. They have turned to arctic winds and cold steel. “My Clarice, you did this to her?”

Jigsaw doesn’t finish a syllable as Hannibal gores towards him. Jigsaw uses his limited observations to predict his movements to escape. Though enraged, Hannibal still manages enough intelligence to match Jigsaw’s as they continue back down the tunnel. Finally, he seizes Jigsaw, biting into the blade of his hand while wrestling him to the ground. The infirmed underling cannot match the aggressor’s strength, yet he keeps pushing instinctively until Hannibal breaks his hand backwards. Not satisfied with taking a mouthful off the hand, he keeps biting deeply into Jigsaw’s face until the jaw is exposed enough to grip.

Screech screech screeeeeeech!

The coaster from earlier rides over the chasm. “(Yes, what a fitting end!)” Hannibal pulls his prey off the ground, drops the torn-out jaw from his hand, and forces the body backwards. Jigsaw grips under his mouth while rivers of blood flow forth.

Jigsaw looks back for a second to confirm what he feared as he pushes with all his limbs against anything in reach.

His back presses against the chair’s boarder. “Tell me,” Hannibal says with triumph. “Why didn’t you come after me? Was it because was I too strong for you?” Shunk. Snap. “Or too smart for you?” Hannibal looks with an immense grin as he watches his great disappointment carried towards the slaughter trail.

_Rollercoaster (part 2)_

The coaster roughly juts into motion. Jigsaws limbs are secured like his torso. The partial keyboard expels from the seat. The train makes speed as the first math problem displays. Three, two, one. The elongated crusher smashes completely through his remaining toes. An awful scream burbles through the river of blood from his remaining mouth. Three, two, one. The ramped floor folds his feet in half like a hydraulic press. Jigsaw begins loosing consciousness until the tri-prongs poke into his knees, spin, and expand the joints apart.

He wants to pass out, but every penalty won’t let him. The rusty hacksaws take too long to sever his hips, then the spinning buzzsaws sever his fingers and any chance he could ever have to pass the tests. “(Halfway through! Halfway through, and it’s over!)” The rotating compilations of blowtorches singe away all outer nerves, until the drenching acid-flush kills many more underneath. The flesh is barely left on his exposed bones. The vices secure around his arms. “(Almost there! Almost there!)” Though less shocking, the pain still continues as his arms are ripped from their sockets. The light of the platform--so forgotten--is coming very close.

The coaster passes the platform and hits the barricade, launching him towards the floor fan. Expecting to hit it in one slam, a mechanical protrusion forces the reverse bear trap into the back of his mouth. A mechanical amendment latches to the back of his jaw hinge, ready to give him the full affect as it slowly lowers him into the ripper. He feels his lower guts ripped out, clearly seeing his intestines unraveled and flung away.

Tick tick tick tick tick

Ding!

The trap rips his mouth open. Much worse than Hannibal’s work.

_A Vibrant World: Beyond the Screen_

In the vibrant world behind the screen, we see X from behind. His bio-cable extensions disengage from the screen and retract inside the stigmata.

*

The screens shut off. Hannibal waits by the exit as the door opens into a blinding white light. He steps into a dream-like medical room.

[Hannibal’s POV] The solid room glows of white light from within it’s walls. There are no crevices, just a consistent flow solidifying into symmetrical quarters. Though unnoticed before, there is a vague man working over something on a table. Like smoke, it fades into the maniacal abductor from the screens. Before being within range, the maniac holds his hands at face level. Spreading his hands, a great weave of white and azure light appears. It’s like neon gas, yet completely cohesive. He brings the beautiful work over to an unknown “other” on the table. The “other” rises. It’s Dora the nurse. Her face is fully restored. At the same time, the maniac turns towards us. We rush at the imprisoner.

Hannibal bites into the raised hand, tearing off 3 fingers in the process. He continues gnawing with hungry eyes and a food-splattered face while staring forward, only to notice that X is several feet away at the entrance door. Hannibal lunges at him to hit an invisible wall. He sits down, enjoying gratefully his recent meal.

[POV looking inside the room from the door] Dora walks through the door, and X follows closely behind. He smiles with delight and gleams, “Bon appetit, boys.” Hannibal sits in the room’s sliver confused.

In the strange silence, Hannibal notices a tray of several sharp instruments. “(Were those always there?),” he thinks to himself calmly. He swallows while leaning his back against the invisible barrier. Staring past the solid wall with his thoughts, he is captivated as the filling draws down to reveal a vitreous wall with an audience behind it. Flooding spotlights center directly on him, making the forms of the spectators merely glazing shadows. He can’t even tell if they’re human.

“(I wonder what they’re cheering for.)”

[POV inside the stomach] Three dismembered fingers drop inside. As they float in the fluid, their equators open into long, hungry mouths with rows of sharp teeth. The bone-ends harden and form into armored, stabbing tails, while flagella grow from all over its body.

Hannibal starts to wince and convulse. It gets worse as he sees blood saturate his shirt. He groans over, pulling himself along the floor as blood begins exiting his mouth. The instruments spill on the floor as the tray falls over. Hannibal grabs a long blade and starts cutting open his stomach. His face locks with greater pain from the parasites than his own incision. Finishing his laceration, he reaches in and pulls out the mutant parasites, throwing them against the walls. They get up and run towards him. Grabbing the nearby tools, he crushes and butchers them to death. He sits in relief, eyes closed, until it starts again. Something else in his guts is squirming; something else has been infected.

His stomach, still attached to his other guts, jumps at him with its fat head and rotating layers of monstrous mouths. Grabbing its fat bulk, he keeps stabbing it with a scalpel while long, fanged tongues begin digging inside his rent gut. Stabbing it all over (taking out its multiple eyes), his liver slithers around his arm like a serpent. Thorny appendages latch all over limb’s flesh. Hannibal drops the dead stomach and tries to pry the serpentine liver. The mawed organs inside begin stirring, biting the others as the acidic puss from the stomach spreads further infection. The kidneys and intestines peripherally attack each other while gnawing away at the parted flesh.

The torso-gorge opens wider as Hannibal feverishly tries cutting and pinning the feasters with any tools he can, restrained by the liver restricting his arm and dissolving its tissue. One kidney is felled, and he feels the screaming nerves.

Hannibal continues to massacre his body as it massacres him. Every bite, every laceration, every splash of fluid infects the other. Monstrously, something worse rips through them all. Spurting upward and towering over his vision is his own spinal tissue, roaring overhead as a demented centipede. Its nauseous and awful nature taps into every primal nightmare of the worst slitherers of darkness. Hannibal braces against it with his forearms as it bites at him, stabbing its wiry legs into every inch of the fleshy barricade.

Hannibal can’t move anything below his waist, but he can still feel. The remaining kidney joins the bladder as they begin devouring everything below, while the lungs break through the ribs.

The stabbed arms are losing as the spinal centipede breaches Hannibal’s mouth, biting hold into the lower lip and gums. A second rush of adrenaline manages to pull the centipede away, though it never relents its capture, effectively tearing its hold and the downward path of tissue away with it.

The cannibal’s very breath is taken away from him as his heart crawls out and begins eating towards his face. The constant chokes of the major vessels shock his body. He has no other defense and must watch the inevitable as the heart slowly eats through his face and, eventually, to his forehead.

Finally, the skull weakens enough. The brain bursts through with the stem as its lashing tail. The great mouth, guided by its long-stemmed eyes, begins devouring through the top remains.

[Onlookers’ POV] The carnivorous mutations crowd around anything once-visible. Within seconds, they have nothing left but each other. The self-destructive frenzy ends with the remaining parts--the brain, liver, and spine--sinking over from their mortal wounds, lifeless, and break apart.

[Onlookers’ POV] Bio-cables emerge from the floor and absorb everything.

The view cuts to the obscure crowd, proceeding forward without revealing any details. The lights grow bright the further we go until we are drawn into one of the floodlights, its soft, white pulp opens to a hidden lavender core with subtle striations.

As we get closer and closer, the core begins rotating.


[The full The Unnamed One story is available on the Archive Of Our Own website.]