JOHN KRAMER.

the bloody chamber by angela carter// amanda young & john kramer, saw

"I don't believe that anyone is ACTUALLY able to be saved," she replied honestly, her eyes met his for a brief moment. "You may believe that you're some new-coming savior with all the right WORDS and ANTIDOTES, but sheep still get lost. You and I both know you're no shepherd," perhaps she was being a bit harsh, but it was the truth through her own eyes. "But I believe I'm just as unsalvageable as the next person. It's the way of the world-"

'do you not save lives every day as part of your career, agent scully?' the question is asked with a genuine curiosity. 'for someone who has so little faith in humanity, you seem to have an authentic belief in your work,' john has met plenty of corrupt agents who cared very little about justice. dana was not one of those people. 'so i must ask - how little do you value your own life? you spend days trying to save others - others you claim cannot be saved - but care very little about your own safety. i can tell by the way you've come here, all alone, with no way to call for help,' he takes a wheezing breath in, milky stare never leaving hers. 'how is it that a man suffering from an incurable illness care more for a human life than you, agent scully?'

𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑 had made his name on mutilating & maiming people. maybe it’s the police that gave him the name ‘jigsaw’ & not something he proclaimed himself, but either way it’s something tied to his identity. as are his deeds, as are his traps & the outcomes of them. what clarice wants to know is why he does what he does—in all her looking into of his the files on him & his killings she’s never seen a super clear pattern to it. ( aside from that those in his traps are trouble makers, have records, or are into sketchy business. but, does that warrant being put into death traps ? ) clarice shifts on her feet, keeps her hand placed near the gun at her hip. he didn’t seem the type to attack, but you could never be too sure. ; ❛ that’s hard t’believe, sir. ❜ maybe being respectful would go longer than accusing him or shouting at him. ❛ what else could it be ‘bout ? even if you didn’t give yourself your nickname, it’s apart of you regardless. ❜ for a moment she wonders if this particular killer is resentful of that given name. a lot of them are because it doesn’t match what they do or how they want to be seen by the public. ❛ your traps maim people. they have-a particular gore aspect to them, a brutality i havn't seen in-a while. ❜ she breaths deep for a moment, settling her nerves but remains with a unreadable expression. ❛ that in itself is gonna have some sorta reputation & will forever be tied t’jigsaw. hard t’escape, do you want to escape your reputation ? ❜

these people didn't understand the extent of john's intentions. they couldn't comprehend him as anything more than a cold blooded killer, but they were wrong. john kramer is not a murderer. he has never stuck a knife into someone ; shot someone in the chest ; choked them until the life left their bodies. he always gave his subjects an opportunity to live, to view their life as something worth living, should they have the strength to live it. it's not something that could be explained to the likes of agent starling. the fbi only sees what they want to see. john could not make them, as a whole, understand, but perhaps this one on one with clarice would shed some light on the truth of what john was trying to accomplish. 'it isn't about me,' he repeats in a raspy voice, breath wheezy in and out as he inhales and exhales. 'it is about showing those who have discarded the importance of their lives that anyone can have a second chance. that when a human is pushed, they will either choose to survive. or they will give up. and those who give up do not deserve the second chance that is given,' john sits back in his seat, the cord of his oxygen tank swaying as he does so. 'the name jigsaw is not just mine, agent starling. it will live on long after i have died. the world should be ready for its legacy,'

how'd you know where to find me?

❛❛  do i?  ❜❜  he's right, and i'm aware of it.  i was never a violent person until john tested me, as that's when my hatred, the parts of it i would hide passively, awakened.  i doubt that john had intended to bring me out of a haze and into a blood - red river to be baptized in with his actions.  nevertheless, i am the monster he made me, and my laugh ceases like a stopped heartbeat.  ❛❛  did you show me the same mercy?  was i lovingly placed into that thing i woke up in?  ❜❜  it's meant to sting, to hurt, to draw blood at the surface.

'i've treated every subject with the same respect and dignity. we are all equals. you included,' love had nothing to do with these trials. john did not love humans. parts of him hated them. but everyone deserved a second chance. he, himself, was given one, with no intervention at all. now he was giving back to those that were just like him - pathetic, giving up on the only life one has to live. john has to catch his breath for a moment, weakened slightly by lifting such a heavy object, but he glances up at sang-woo once recovered. his words do not effect john the way they are supposed to. very little does, these days. 'how you feel is your choice. but you will not continue to take your anger out on those who do not deserve it,' john takes a moment to cough into his hand, wheezzing a few breaths inward before he moves to secure the trap. 'undo his restraints. he will be waking up soon,'

❛ you have to step out of this darkness and let them see you for who you are, like i have. ❜

yes, i'm sick. sick from the disease eating away at me inside. sick of people who don't appreciate their blessings. sick of those who scoff at the suffering of others. i'm sick of it all! independent & selective rp. written by ASH / they them / 25+. do not follow / interact if you are UNDER 21. themes of horror, body horror, gore, murder, villainy & more are present. follow at your OWN RISK.

𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐓, it acknowledge it as little as possible. it was a defense mechanism, she knew, & a damn powerful one. what else was she meant to do ? face with mortality & impending death, which does not pertain to those playing their games, of someone she often times loved more than her own self. someone she never knew she would have to live without until his diagnosis, until he peeled himself away from what once was their family unit. ; her father grew distant, but she was ever stubborn & persistent. he might not have wanted to see her, a reminder of another child he’d never have, but odelia knew if she kept on, if she wiggled her way in, he would be some semblance of what he was. ( did she know it would be this ? building death traps, making people cherish life. no, never, but she does it because she will be the legacy. ) coming to sit in a chair pulled close to his bedside, eyes glance over the array of medicine. out of habit, she checks her watch—he won’t need any more meds for another two hours. john speaks, he talks about legacies, destines, doing what needs to be done to open peoples eyes & immediately odelia knows. jaw clenched, ❛ do we have t’talk about this now, dad ? ❜

'yes,' john's voice is raspy. there are days when he can get out of bed, walk around, work with his hands ; when the medication works and his pain levels are lessened greatly. today is not one of those days. today, he's bedridden, forced to stare at the ceiling, fading in and out of sleep and cursing his body and everything else that had lead him to this frail state. glazed over eyes move to meet his daughter's, his breath slow and shallow, a cough caught in his throat. 'i know this isn't something you want to talk about, delia. but it's something we have to discuss. i won't be here for much longer,' eyes flutter a bit, john fighting unconciousness even as he speaks to odelia. 'you are here to assure my legacy lives on. i need to make sure this is something you want, and not something you've been forced into,'