Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

All Adam could hear was silence.

Everything was swallowed up by endless nothing . By a void that he had become far too acquainted with in the tiled bathroom. 

Maybe he had finally died there. In the room Jigsaw said he would.

Then he felt something prodding his face.

He was slouched over, resting against a bunch of sharp points. 

At first, that’s all they were. Little points. 

Then it all rose to the surface.

His eyes snapped open.

The pain was overwhelming.

Chains dug into both of his ankles, even tighter than the one he became used to in the bathroom. Every fidget burrowed the metal into his skin. He stuck his hands out to feel around in the pitch-black space, sending his palms into spikes. He recoiled and slammed his back into even more pins and needles. He felt something begin to trickle down his back.

“ Help me !”

Adam’s shrill voice bounced off the walls. This dark, cramped room was even more suffocating than that disgusting bathroom he had just fallen asleep in. And now he was here, with no idea of what to do, and he wanted more than anything to finally go home to the shithole apartment he missed so much, and…

Pain. So much pain.

It was overwhelming .

Adam whimpered as he looked around for something familiar. 

Although that would be useless. It was pitch black, just like the bathroom. 

But he wasn't there anymore. He could just tell. The way his voice echoed here, it was different. The familiar feel of the pipes against his back and the dirty tiles under his feet, gone.

All of it was gone.

The only things that weren’t gone were the swimming figures in the endless abyss. Taunting him, laughing at him just like they always had been. For days now, it was just them. And it was only a matter of time before they would reach out at him again, grab him, and suck him into his home of darkness and—

A light turned on, blinding Adam.

The shapes were gone. At least for now.

He instinctively went to shield his eyes, but only sent his hands into more spikes. He drew them to his chest, gritting his teeth, and waited for his eyes to adjust.

He wasn't in a small room.

It was a coffin. 

He was in a coffin . 

At his eye level was a slit in a heavy metal wall in front of him. Through it, he could make out a door, a digital timer, and a bulky TV set. The light above him shone off the tight metal shackles on his ankles.

Blood stained their surfaces.

The chains connected to a box with two bright red buttons.

And in front of him—

Adam gasped at the bed of nails along the wall, sharp side pointed right at him. Some of them were already painted with his blood.

He hated nails. Had been afraid of them for as long as he could remember. When he was still in school, the other kids would make fun of him for it. Constantly teased him every time they found a loose nail in a bench near the playground, or when they wanted to go out and use them in more-dangerous-than-hilarious pranks.

He had always flinched at the mere sight of them.

As a kid, he was stabbed with one by his friend, Scott. On Adam's sixth birthday, Scott decided to take out his anger when Adam got a toy Scott wanted. Adam had offered to share, but it wasn't enough.

Nothing was ever enough for that kid.

Adam reeled back — just like he did as a child — and felt more spikes against his back. He carefully turned around, wincing as more nails rubbed into his arm.

He let out a shaky breath.

The wall behind him was also covered.

An endless field of nails on either side.

Leave. He needed to leave.

“Get me the fuck outta here!” Adam screamed out and looked around, placing his fingers between the nails, against the board. He pushed as hard as he could. He kept readjusting his fingers in a vain attempt to get better leverage, but he lost his grip and—

His hand slipped. Nails stabbed his palm.

He yelped and yanked his hand back. 

Blood rolled down his arm.

He darted his eyes around the wall, looking for something. Anything. He clutched his hand and brought it up to his chest. Anything to stop the blood.

As if that would do anything to protect it. 

He heard a creak.

Adam looked through the narrow slit, his only portal to the outside world. The door had opened, its dark exterior replaced with dingy walls and peeling wallpaper.

He shifted his gaze down.

He jumped and had to catch himself from falling into the nails.

A terrifying puppet on a tricycle stared at Adam, trapped in his little box, as it rode into the room.

Its black hair was sticking up in some spots — just like the hairs on the back of Adam’s neck — and it had red spiral makeup on it protruding cheeks to match its lipstick.

It was giving him the same belittling stare it had given him in his apartment so long ago. 

A memory he would’ve rather forgotten. 

A shiver ran down Adam’s spine. 

It smiled at him just like last time, too.

He had beaten the crap out of that thing. Put all of his strength into whacking it with his bat until it finally shut up.

But it rode in despite his best efforts, on its own, right over to Adam.

And it spoke .

“ Hello, Adam.”

Adam grit his teeth.

“I'd like to play a game.”

The puppet’s mouth bobbed up and down mindlessly. That stupid smirk came back every time its lips touched.

Adam yelled, “Who the fuck are you?”

“ You played before, but your first test was greatly… problematic. So instead of letting you rot away, I decided to give you a second chance at redemption.”

Redemption?

Adam lived alone. He did his job — taking pictures of the scum of the earth for equally scummy clients — and went home at the end of the day to do it all again tomorrow. He did a few things for friends sometimes, too. Little favors he never expected to be paid back for.

What did he need to redeem within all that?

“ When the timer in front of you begins, a deadly nerve agent will be released into the air. You are not far from your last test, and you are kindly testing it out for my next group of subjects.”

Adam’s brows shot up.

“ 'Nerve agent?' ” he echoed firmly.

“ In one hour, you will start to feel its toll. And in two… well…”

Adam tried to step back, and the chain on his left ankle dug further into his skin. He grit his teeth and kicked out of instinct — as if that could possibly do anything. He lost his balance and stumbled back, shoving him into nails.

He yelped.

“ I strongly recommend you do not wait and find out. Or you will be left again, as the agent takes its devastating toll on your body. And this house will be your tomb, as you rot here instead.”

He shouldn't be here. That's all he could think about.

Adam's aim in the last stupid little game was to live. And he passed. Was this what “winning” these games meant? Was he supposed to do these until he took his last breath?

He should've let Lawrence kill him from the start. Could've freed the doctor and his family right then and there. And no one would miss Adam.

He shouldn't be here .

“But there’s a catch.”

There was always a catch.

But if getting out of this meant he had to keep playing, what was the point?

“I just wanna go home,” he choked out.

“Perhaps you remember your old friend, Doctor Gordon.”

Adam’s eyes shot open.

“Lawrence.”

Lawrence was dead. He had bled out long ago, forever bonded with the halls just outside that bathroom.

Gone. Dead and gone. His blood had stained the floor of the bathroom, and probably that hall too. And that’s assuming their captor didn’t kill him after locking Adam away.

“He is still alive. And only you can keep it that way, Adam.”

The television behind the puppet cut to static. The picture morphed into view.

Adam cried out, although he couldn’t remember the sound.

Lawrence.

There he was. The man Adam had learned to trust, the one he had killed for . 

The shaking, terrified, broken man was on the screen in front of him.

Alive .

“Lawrence!” Adam screamed.

“When that timer reaches zero, the device he is hooked to will go off, and he will be left to fade to nothing right alongside you.”

Adam’s shaky knees buckled.

He tumbled down, his legs banging into nails. He wailed and fought to stand again. Fought to keep his eyes on that shitty screen.

Lawrence was sitting down, tied down to a chair with something coming out of his arm. Clearly unconscious.

And clearly left alone.

Adam felt sick to his stomach.

“You stay away from him!” he snapped.

“ The path will lead you to both the antidote and your way out of these games, once and for all.”

The way out? Fuck the way out.

He needed to get Lawrence out of there first. Adam needed so much from the doctor when they were in that bathroom. Between all his hissy fits, he was surprised Lawrence hadn’t shot him sooner. On the contrary, Lawrence tried to help every step of the way. 

Adam had to return the favor.

He needed to be the one helping them both out of this one.

“ I call this first test the Iron Maiden. As a child, your friend Scott Tibbs stabbed you with a rusty nail. Well, how about hundreds of nails?”

Adam banged against the opening of the coffin with his good hand, snarling. 

Threatening Adam was one thing. But Lawrence? Dangling him in front of Adam like that? When he got the fuck out of here, he’d—

“ Listen carefully, for if you don't follow the rules, your coffin will close in on you. Those nails will pierce your body, just like your so-called friend , and you’ll bleed out where you stand.”

Adam clutched his hand.

He didn’t want to think of what it’d feel like. Being stuck in here and minced to bits. All that would be left was a mangled mess.

He would rot there.

And no one would look for him.

Left to fester and deteriorate to ash again .

“ Both of your ankles are chained. Your left is connected to the front wall, and your right to the back. These are the same shackles that bound you and Doctor Gordon to the pipes. And now, they are your key to freedom.”

Lawrence would sit there, alone and terrified. Surely he had his own timer that he could see. At least, when he eventually woke up. Because he wouldn’t stay under forever. No. That wouldn’t be fun enough. Their captors were the type to enjoy watching someone panic as they saw their clock approach zero.

Then the doctor would rot in there, alone. Just as Adam almost had in the bathroom. And…

Adam had to do this.

“ On the panel in front of you are two buttons. You must activate both to stop the walls from closing in.”

The mention made his ankles throb again. He looked at the panel in front of him, studying the buttons. They were simply arrows that pointed to his left and right sides, both dull.

“ But you know how… shocking those chains can be.”

Adam grimaced. “So that's what we're doin'.”

He remembered the pain of his one chain from the bathroom. The uncontrollable tensing of his muscles.

He had only had a charlie horse once. Somehow, the chain was like having ten. Everywhere. Every inch of his body had burned. And all he could do was lay there and take it. 

“ Do you have what it takes to survive, Adam?”

Lawrence. Lawrence. Do this for Lawrence.

“ Live or die. Make your choice.”

The puppet cackled before slowly backing up, leaving the room just as mysteriously as it appeared.

Fitting that even something like that would leave him, too.

He clenched his jaw before muttering nonsense to himself, waiting for the countdown to begin. He tensed and relaxed his fists, in unison with the pounding in his chest.

Adam's eyes popped open as he heard a click, and the timer began.

60, 59, 58…

His heart leapt out of his chest as he heard another mechanical clicking sound, and the nails spun. They advanced towards him.

Adam screamed and pounded against the wall, his hands leaning into any open spaces he could find. He used all of his strength as he desperately tried to find a weakness in the structure.

But he couldn't find anything.

“Someone help me !”

47…

Adam shuddered as the nails got closer. They shrieked in his ears. He jolted away from them, and the motion sent him flying into the nails behind him. They drilled into his back. He felt fresh blood oozing into his shirt and down his spine.

38…

He looked at the feed of Lawrence. The doctor was still slouched down, unmoving and completely helpless.

Adam needed to do this.

He whimpered as he held his shaky hand over the left button. Blood from his wounded palm dripped onto it.

He closed his eyes.

31…

Adam pressed the button with a firm slam.

Fire shot up his legs and into every muscle in his body. He shook and shivered uncontrollably. It felt like his flesh was being ripped out from underneath his skin.

It was even more suffocating than he remembered.

28…

The electricity stopped. His already-shaky knees buckled and sent Adam crashing into the nails in front of him. Some of them drilled into the side of his face.

A buzzer sounded and the nails slowed. Adam forced himself off the sharp points, screaming, feeling his face. He pressed his good hand to the holes. 

The blood was already dripping towards his neck.

The wall in front of him had stopped advancing. But the nails behind him continued, and the clock ticked on.

19…

One more time. Just one more time.

Adam flattened himself against the still wall of nails as the buzzing one behind him grazed his back. He sucked in and scrunched his face as he heard the ripping of flesh.

His own flesh. That was him , being cut to bits and—

“Just fucking do it !” he shouted.

He hovered his right hand over the button, then he gave the clock one more glance.

14…

And he slammed his hand down.

The jolting returned, sending Adam rigid. Every slight movement shoved him into more nails. If they hurt, he couldn’t feel it over the chain’s shock, over everything in his body being set alight.

Blood slipped into his eye and he tried to cry through his grit teeth.

9…

Another buzz. The coffin swung open. 

Adam toppled onto the hard ground and straight onto his shot shoulder.

He screeched and tried to shift his weight. But every spot had another wound. Another cut. Another bloody mess to clean up.

And he screamed.

He let out an earth-shattering shout as he rocked back and forth on the cold floor. He screamed at every blood-soaked nail that just pierced him, at the bastards who put them there to begin with. He screamed at himself for sending that key down the drain, ruining his chance to walk out of this from minute one. 

He screamed at the bathroom itself and everything it stood for.

Adam weakly cried. His salty tears invaded the gashes littered on his cheek. Tiny drops of acid that seeped into his bloodstream.

He remembered every promise, every lie that was ever fed to him in these perverse games.

And he screamed again.

It was deafening.

Chapter Text

Adam was curled up into a ball on the floor, arms wrapped around himself. A sticky pool of blood was slowly forming around him.

As if the floor wasn't disgusting enough.

He had no idea how long he had been there. The pain had slowly faded to a static at the back of his mind.

I have to go.

Because he was breathing in a nerve agent.

A fucking nerve agent.

He had never expected to go like that. He could only imagine the pain. Could only imagine what it would be like to slowly lose himself as his brain shuts down. Would he even know? When he was fading? When that was it?

Maybe not. Maybe he should just lay here and let it happen, and...

Lawrence.

He couldn't be much help to Lawrence if he let his brain waste away to nothing. Not when the doctor needed him most.

He had to get up.

He couldn't let that timer reach zero.

Adam groaned and put his hands on the ground to push himself up. The hole in his hand shot searing pain up his arm, and he hissed through his teeth.

But he pushed up anyway, gingerly as he could, muttering to himself.

"Come on, come on, c–"

His hands slipped in the blood — a painfully familiar portrait from the bathroom — and he face-planted on the hard ground.

New burning pain shot from his nose.

"Fuck!" he spat, slamming his hand over his nose.

More blood.

He pounded his good hand against the floor and shakily raised his head, gritting his teeth.

His fucking nose, he...

His nose.

The crunch, the searing pain, it was all familiar.

Too familiar.

He pushed up again and forced himself to sit, legs sprawled in the blood puddle. The world wobbled in and out of focus. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Where the hell would he have hit his nose?

He had never...

His eyes shot open as it came back to him.

Adam had fallen asleep with his back against his trusty bathroom pipe, just like he had every other night. Or maybe day. He had lost track early on. And he had just finished another of his long-winded arguments to the void in the bathroom. It was all part of a routine he was painfully familiar with.

He had felt a tickle under his nose. He had tried fighting his eyes open. A savior. A hero. It was finally over. Lawrence had kept his promise. He could go home. Escape this cell, talk to the people he loved, live every day in the life he wanted to create and—

They draped a bag over Adam's face and pulled.

He couldn't breathe. He thrashed around. He clawed behind him, and in front, and anywhere, but the person wouldn't budge. He ended up on his knees. He tried to tilt himself down, for more leverage, or to get distance, he didn't know and didn't care at the time.

That's when he smacked his face against something and started to drown in his own blood.

He fought as hard as he could, right until everything turned to black.

True black. Not the bathroom kind, with visions and voices and visceral thoughts.

Emptiness.

That's the last thing he remembered before waking up here.

Adam sighed.

Lawrence was supposed to bring help. That's what he promised. But instead, some lunatic decided to stop by and try to kill Adam right there.

Adam slowly slipped to the ground, once again being enveloped by blood.

He stared up at the ceiling and started to study it.

He did this a lot. Mostly as a kid, but he'd be lying if he said he still didn't look up at the sky and make out patterns.

He couldn't do that in the bathroom, not like he used to.

But here, the ceiling was so cracked that it almost felt like he was tracing constellations back home. It was his favorite thing to do when the world around him fell to shit again.

It distracted him enough from the visions. From the pain. So he tried to come up with what he needed to do.

But all he managed to scrounge up was home, as he made out fake patterns in the dilapidated ceiling.

His mom. He never called her back.

Adam wanted to call her so bad.

He wanted to race to a phone and hear her voice. Tell her he was sorry for taking her for granted. Apologize for being such a crappy son. He couldn't thank her enough for sticking with him despite everything, but he'd try. He had to.

He wanted to tell her how much he loved her.

That no matter how much he tried, he knew he couldn't be the son that she deserved. She would be better off without him, so why not give her that?

He had gotten so caught up in his own crap...

Adam quietly sighed.

He wanted to be a vet. He had always wanted to be a vet, and she said he could. Every single damn day as a kid, she'd tell him he could be whatever he wanted to be. Every parent worth their salt said things like that, but even now, he felt like she had meant it.

And then he got so distracted by everything around him that he killed that chance. Watched it crash and burn before it even took flight.

The argument they had only a few days ago, it couldn't be the last thing she would hear from her only child.

But maybe it would be.

All he could get himself to do was stare at the ceiling.

One of the cracks looked like a strange duck-rabbit hybrid. Like that dumb optical illusion, if Adam could call it that.

He furrowed his brow.

But he definitely couldn't leave Lawrence.

Maybe Adam didn't have much of a shot here — the blood on the floor was making a compelling argument for that.

But Lawrence did. And he had a wife and a little girl.

He thought about the camera and the person behind it. Surely the person who put him here. And surely, they were enjoying every moment.

Adam hadn't had much of a chance to prove people wrong about him. Not about his grades. Not about his shitty job in his shitty apartment. Couldn't even argue with Lawrence calling him a bottomfeeder. He was. That's all he'd ever be, maybe.

But he could prove this asshole wrong when he got Lawrence the hell out of here.

Adam smirked.

"Show these bastards apathetic," he muttered as he sat up.

A corner of his lips twitched. "Angry though, they got me there," he grumbled.

Adam grit his teeth as he got to his knees.

God, Lawrence.

Kind, sensible, compassionate. At least before the foot thing.

Everything Adam had ever wanted to be.

A doctor, too.

Adam scoffed. "Got me looking up to the dude who shot me."

He fought to his feet. The world spun and he caught his balance on part of his coffin.

Iron Maiden.

If only it had been the band instead.

Adam eyeballed the camera. "Thanks, guys!" he shouted hoarsely. "I'm havin' a blast."

He looked at the timer.

An hour and forty-seven minutes.

In an hour and forty-seven minutes he would be far, far away from this place.

"Enjoy the show." Adam smirked. "Gonna be a short one, fucker."

Adam walked towards the door underneath the timer and threw it open.

He narrowed his eyes.

His room was in the middle of a dreary hallway. The gross, dark wallpaper was peeling from the drywall and broken picture frames hung from unstable nails.

A paper was haphazardly pinned to the wall with an arrow pointing to his right. Another shoddy clue from the miraculous Jigsaw, surely. About as good as the heart drawn in shit.

But that's not what caught his eye.

There was a brand-new mirror directly in front of him.

He gasped at what it held in its shiny surface.

His usually-neat hair was matted. Dried blood had caked the ends, sending them in wild directions. His white shirt was painted with blood and shit and old building dust, not to mention the gaping hole planted firmly over his shot shoulder.

And he didn't recognize the eyes staring back at him.

Adam took in a deep, shaky breath and looked this stranger in the eyes. Tears started to form, but he chuckled nervously and looked up, blinking furiously.

He chuckled when he was anxious. Joked even more. Had learned it from Scott, he supposed. Because sometimes, Adam would chuckle the right way or say just the right thing. And Scott would grunt a certain way, his bad boy excuse for a chuckle, and finally let up.

Adam was always the butt of the joke.

So why not beat them to it? Just like he always did.

He forced another chuckle. "You need a bath, Stanheight."

But the person in the mirror didn't laugh. He simply stared, unamused. A look Adam was familiar with facing.

He shook his head. "Talk about pathetic," he whispered.

He turned and saw another door. He yanked on the handle, grunting and grimacing at the pain with each tug. After all the lies, the lies from Lawrence and Zep and about the game itself, he needed to know, he...

Adam let out a shaky breath and thud his forehead against the door.

This never worked. Even if it opened, what if it was just another pig mask?

So, with a sigh and dragging steps, he followed the arrow's instruction. To the right. Down the dingy hallway.

Something about the wallpaper reminded him of the bathroom. His tomb, he had assumed. His new home. He couldn't help but focus on the shadows in the corners and the encroaching darkness between light sources. Any minute now, shapes would start swimming in his vision again and something would jump out of the walls.

And what if he couldn't fight it off this time?

After all, Zep wasn't there to back him up anymore.

Adam grumbled and shook his head. The whole thing just brought on a headache.

Zep had never been back up.

Zep was dead. Dead and gone. Those things he saw in the bathroom, they weren't real. He knew—

There were no timers in the hall. It made him nervous. An itch at the back of his mind told him to go check the one in front of the coffin. The one he had already walked away from. But exactly how much time had he wasted staring at that mirror? He could turn back, know precisely how much time he had spent. He could find out how much time was left, see how long he had wasted looking around, how long—

"Christ, shut up, Adam!"

He shook his head harder. On top of the headache, the world started to spin. He caught himself on the wall and kept moving.

Distractions. He needed distractions.

Like always, his mind defaulted to animals. Sweet, non-judgemental creatures. With more compassion in their little bodies than most people would show in their entire lifetime.

After his vet dream turned out to be a wash — and with his grades, who had been surprised — he wanted a pet. Something to take care of. And it'd love him just as much as he was sure to love it.

But he could barely afford to care for himself, let alone an animal.

So the scummy people around him were all he had. And everyday, he'd lose more faith in the world as he watched them live their lives. The rude neighbor belittling every single thing Adam did. His landlord angrily reminding him — and only him — about rent every time he came in the building, before the payment even had a chance to be late. His shitty clients sneering instructions at him before he went to follow their equally shitty targets.

Scum. All of them.

Every day, after trudging up the stairs to his apartment, he would grumble to himself and dread having to wake up and do it all over again the next day.

But there was a small sparkle of hope some days. There was a cat that periodically found her way to his unit. He would smile and feed her every time she showed her face. Pet her as much as she was willing to stand.

He missed that damn cat.

He missed her so much.

And Mom.

If he didn't make it out of this, she'd only have that stupid argument left to remember him. She'd sob over a body she could never find and ask where she had gone wrong.

And she would feel that way because of what he did. Because of what he said, and what he...

"Fuck," Adam whispered to the walls.

Call his mom. Call his mom and pet the cat. He made up words to say to her. Not that he'd get the chance.

But it helped to keep him moving down the hall.

He walked through a wide archway.

Adam looked around the room. Some sort of entryway, by the looks of it. A staircase in the middle of the space looked creepy. Unstable. Right in front of it was a white door with chains.

EXIT

Before he realized what he was doing, he raced to the door and slammed into it. He pulled at the chain and jiggled the knobs. He punched and kicked the wood.

All it did was make him lightheaded.

Adam turned and put his back to the door. He thud the back of his head against it and clenched his jaw.

He couldn't catch his breath. And the ringing in his ears, it was going to drive him insane.

His throat itched. Adam tried to clear it, but started a coughing fit and slammed his hand to his lips.

Sick warmth spread across his palm. He looked into it.

Fresh blood seeped into the creases of his hand.

He grit his teeth again and weakly slapped the door. Slapped the mocking word painted across it. He searched for some sort of camera.

A red light shone out from a corner of the ceiling.

Adam scowled.

"Nice, thanks." He raised his arms up. "Hilarious." His hands slammed back down at his sides.

He grumbled and ran his hands through his hair. A couple of his fingers snagged on knots. He winced and at first tried to gingerly untangle them.

Then his eyes landed on a small table near the base of the stairs.

Adam gave up on the knots in his hair and walked over.

A crisp note shone out from the dirty wooden slab. He snatched it up and unfolded it, eyeing the camera every so often.

Neatly written words in dark ink stuck out against the bright paper.

'I need a stronger anesthetic'

As if on cue, his shoulder started to ache again. He narrowed his eyes.

There was something there. Something behind those words. He had heard that before.

He read it again.

Anesthetic. Anesthetic. Like what he'd need for his now-busted nose, and the cuts in his skin, and his shoulder, and—

He let out a huff through his nose.

His shoulder. His shoulder had been hurting. A searing pain reaching down his arm. And the words had seemed so far away, as if he was standing on one side of a never-ending tunnel, or receiving messages through a rudimentary can-and-string phone.

And he could do nothing about his shoulder, and nothing about the words, he was stuck, frozen as time unfolded around him and—

"What the hell happened?"

He read it over and over again.

'I need a stronger anesthetic.'

Adam grumbled and slammed the note down, keeping his eyes on his shoulder. He gripped his shirt sleeve and yanked it up.

His eyes widened.

"I need a stronger anesthetic."

Not only was there a bandage plastered over his shoulder, it was clean. The dark stain from a disinfectant had still stuck around.

Must have hurt like hell, if...

"I need a stronger anesthetic."

Adam gasped and let go of his shirt, as if it'd shock him just like the chains.

The scene unfolded in front of his eyes.

He remembered lying there, helpless, unmoving, with an IV jammed in his arm and an oxygen tube stuck up his nose. But he wasn't alone. People had stood over him, staring. Something, or maybe someone, was constant poking his shoulder, and he shifted in and out of consciousness.

"I need a stronger anesthetic."

Through the ringing in his ears, the same damn tune he heard around this house, had been a muffled, hoarse voice. A shaky one, too.

Scared. They had been scared.

Adam thought to force his eyes open, but it never happened.

Helpless.

"I don't want to hurt him. Please, J-"

"You know we can't do that, Doctor."

The first voice sighed. The Doctor.

Their voice was nice. Comforting.

But... sad.

Very, very—

"This is gonna hurt like hell."

And then what...?

All he could remember was darkness. A heavy darkness, one he tried to fight. But he had lost the battle in spectacular fashion as it swallowed him whole again.

Like the darkness in the last room. Like the darkness in the bathr—

He looked up at the camera. "The hell did you do to me?" he snapped.

Silence.

Adam let out a huff and slammed the note on the table.

Whatever. At least he was here.

Here and able to get Lawrence out.

That's what he'd do. That'd be his legacy. And maybe Lawrence would find his mom and tell her that Adam had done something. Maybe he'd have time to tell the doctor about the cat.

Get Lawrence out. He'd get Lawrence the fuck out, no matter what it took.

"I promise."

And he would take that promise to the grave. Maybe to the one built for him within these walls.

He would do this. He had to do this.

No matter what, he would fix this.

Even if it was the last thing he ever did.

Chapter Text

Adam sat on the dreary stairwell in the foyer, eyes raking over the room again and again. The steps perfectly complimented the decrepit walls of the house.

The same house he may very well die in.

He buried his head in his palms. His labored breath warmed them, and soon, would make them clammy.

He played the words over and over in his head, memorizing every syllable.

“I need a stronger anesthetic.”

The kind person, the doctor as that other guy had called him, spoke with this familiar clarity. His deep, raspy voice echoed in Adam's ears, replaying over and over again and—

Lawrence.

Adam clenched his jaw.

Lawrence had been there, hovering over Adam. Despite it all, despite everything that had happened to them, the doctor had kept his promise. He had found him, taken care of him. Lawrence had never, ever…

Adam slammed his fist against the stairs. The wooden floorboards shrieked. “Fuck!” Adam spat to the empty room.

Lawrence had kept his promise, and now Adam didn't have a fucking clue where he was or if he was okay.

The things he had said about Lawrence in that bathroom. In the endless dark. The threats, the cursing, the anger…

“I'm sorry,” he whispered.

The person who spoke to Lawrence sounded familiar. The mysterious man had left Adam to rot in the bathroom. Jigsaw — at least, that’s what Lawrence had called him — had put them there, Adam had no doubts about that one. And that same raspy, aged voice had echoed its words throughout the room, somehow managing to overshadow Adam's screams.

There was no mistaking it.

Jigsaw and Lawrence had been there, hovering above Adam.

Lawrence said Jigsaw wasn’t a murderer. Hadn't killed anyone, he had explained. They were given a chance.

Adam scoffed. “Zep would love to have a talk with you about that one.”

Game over.

It's what Jigsaw had uttered before leaving Adam to stain the bathroom with nothing, his contribution blending in perfectly with everything else.

Game. This was all a fucking game.

He stood up and eyed the camera, clenching his jaw as he pictured the person behind it.

He pictured Jigsaw there. Then he imagined his ancient face's remains splattered all around the prehistoric bathroom. For real this time, not Zep. Not some other innocent caught in the crossfire. And Adam and Lawrence would laugh. Maybe Adam could take some pictures. They’d make a pretty sick metal album cover. And the entire world could see Jigsaw for what he was.

Human. A weak little human. Not some untouchable figure preaching life lessons.

All Adam could do now, though, was speak to the camera.

“You hear me out there, huh? Soak up every second you can. Don't you miss a single thing.”

Adam was ready to turn and storm off, but a bright splotch caught his eye.

The note sat patiently on the little table. The reminder of Lawrence, of what he had done for Adam.

He picked the paper up and stuffed it in his back pocket.

He’d lost the doctor once. He’d hold on to what he had left until he could find him again.

Until he could find the person who had, after everything that Adam had done, delivered on every one of his promises after all.

Adam could not fail this time. He had always wanted a chance to do better.

And this was it.

“You're going home, Lawrence,” he whispered. “I swear.”

Adam glanced at everything else in the room. A gross-looking couch. A bookshelf built into the wall, void of any books.

And no hints that they’d be of any use.

Adam walked to the other side of the staircase, balling his hands into fists. His nails dug deep into his palms.

He had done this a lot as a kid. Mom had always taught him to make fists and breathe deep when he was upset. It was a better outlet than what Scott had taught him.

When he had pissed Mom off — truly pissed her off — Scott was usually involved somehow. They would go out and bash mailboxes and light little things on fire. Any object they could find. They needed to feel in control of something. So against Adam's better judgment, and despite his constant suggestions of alternatives, Scott would always get the best of him.

And Adam would always have to deal with the heartache in his mother's voice as he showed up in the back of a cop car again. The officers swore he was one bad day away from a night in juvie.

He clenched his fists tighter.

He closed his eyes as her voice bounced around his head. Her words were soothing, despite the clear disappointment in them.

“Just take a minute, honey. Breathe and make your fists. I'm here.”

Except she wasn't.

Blood dripped down Adam's palms.

Adam sighed and shook his hand, splattering red on the floor. “Nice going, Stanheight.”

He had only done it to the point of bleeding a couple times before. The most memorable was soon after Scott convinced Adam to drop out of high school, sending his vet school dreams right down the drain. Scott sold Adam on Wrath of the Gods, a band that would surely take off. They needed a photographer and a drummer, as Scott had told him more than a few times in a less-than-subtle fashion.

So Adam left school and got a job at the local record store, saving up money for all the drumming lessons he could find. He hadn't gotten Mom anything for her birthday, but she assured him that his success would be enough for her.

Adam learned Scott's favorite song on those drums. And he was damn proud of himself for catching on so quickly.

And then, after listening to Adam play a few songs and random melodies he came up with — ones that hadn’t sounded too bad for how inexperienced he was — Scott hired some other dude who flaked on them after a couple weeks.

Scott said he was teaching Adam a lesson, refusing to elaborate further.

What a great lesson it had been. His vet dreams were dead, and his drumming dreams — well, no, not dreams, more desires — were equally shot.

All he had left was photographing for the band and planning their events. He handed out as many fliers as he could, determined to convince everyone’s cousin’s friend’s son to come to the performance. Maybe then, Scott would understand how hard Adam tried. How hard he had always tried.

Except maybe on the verbal advertising. He told a few people they didn't completely suck.

Adam rolled his eyes. “Nice marketing, dipshit.”

He grit his teeth and shook himself out of it.

He had a job to do here, too. Lawrence. Find Lawrence.

Adam peered around the other side of the staircase.

There was a television with a tape precariously balanced in the VHS slot, begging to be pushed in. The setup looked old, its black exterior blending in with the darkness of the walls. There was lettering on the tape, written with the same handwriting as the note.

Play Me

“Oh lovely, you're keeping that up,” Adam grumbled.

He pushed the tape in anyway.

The image started as static, and then the little grains gave way to reveal the setup of the concert that Adam knew very, very well.

He would have recognized it anywhere. He had planned every bit of the thing, down to the locations of the chairs. It was in the same crappy bar he selected, with the same people who enjoyed below-average rock music. The cameraman was in the audience, sitting in the middle with the camera pointed at the makeshift stage.

And Scott walked into the frame, beer in hand, storming onstage before gripping the microphone tightly.

The other band members walked up after him, grumbling about how he was supposed to wait for the cue. Scott shushed them and chugged his beer before pointing to the cameraman.

“Y'all might be wondering who this dude is, huh? I know what you're thinking: 'That's not Adam.'”

The regulars at that bar were familiar with Adam. They had become a source of comfort to him, as much as he tried to deny it.

Even when the rest of the week was shit, he could count on them to be saddled up on those barstools.

“Yeah, no shit it's not Adam,” Scott shouted, gripping the microphone harder. “'Cause he is nowhere to be found.”

Scott stared the camera down.

“You'll be here, huh? You'll be here? Then where the fuck are you?”

The corners of Adam’s lips twisted.

I tried...

He had been busy losing his mind in the dark bathroom. Not that Scott knew that. Of course not. But the shouting still dug deep. The blame.

He was always to blame, wasn’t he?

“Thanks for nothin', hotshot.” Scott took another swig, then stifled a burp.

Maybe it was better Adam missed it. With how wasted he was, the show was probably shit.

Scott chuckled. “At least I found a new cameraman! A more reliable one!”

One of the band members interjected. “Scott… Scott, maybe he got sick or somethin', yanno?”

Lark. He always stood up for Adam when Scott did this. The guitarist hated when Scott turned things around on anyone else. Usually, it’d be Adam. Easy target, he supposed. And Lark would always pull Adam aside afterward and reassure him. It had nothing to do with Adam. Scott was just blowing off steam.

Thank you, Lark.

But on the screen, Scott laughed even louder before chugging the rest of his beer.

“Oh, shut up, Lark. Your little girlfriend got cold feet again!”

He was drunk, Adam needed to remember that. And when Scott got drunk, there was no holding him back.

“I'm changing the name of my new single. How ‘bout I Don't Give a Shit About Adam!”

Everyone stood in silence. They only watched as Scott started chanting the title, like it was some sick ritual. Lark looked into the camera with a heavy frown, but didn't say a damn thing.

No one did.

“I don't give a shit about Adam!”

Things never change. They will never fucking change. Adam was the butt of the joke, and everyone just sat there and took it and—

“I don't give a shit about Adam!”

Adam kicked the nearby wall. His foot splintered right through the thin wood paneling.

He yelped, more out of shock than anything else, and then tears started to catch in his lashes. “Fuck!” he snapped.

“I don't give a shit about Adam!”

Adam sat down against the wall. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut—”

“I don't give a shit about Adam!”

Adam buried his face in his hands, and Scott still continued on.

“I don't give a shit about Adam!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

The video ended, right on cue.

Adam looked up at the camera. Jigsaw was watching, reveling in every bit of this. No doubt that sick fuck wanted to see how much it would take for Adam to snap.

“Fuck you!”

He heaved for air and wiped the tears from his eyes.

The shouting. He was giving Jigsaw exactly what he wanted. He was like a caged monkey, mindlessly trying to break free as people laughed and clapped and chalked it all up to him just being funny.

He was the laughingstock again, and he was letting it happen.

“Fuck you,” he whispered.

He propelled himself to his feet using the wall. His head spun with the motion. A cough escaped him and he caught himself on the staircase.

He was fading, and he knew it. This nerve agent would rip his brain apart if he didn't pick up the pace.

But this couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be where he stopped.

Lawrence needed him.

Adam walked along the wall, his hand still holding him steady.

And then he caught a lip of something with his fingers. He stared.

Part of the wall stuck out just a bit.

He smirked.

Adam pushed the wall and a not-so-hidden door popped out from the wall. He peered into a dark room. The only thing he could make out from the light in the foyer was the rickety wooden staircase.

He adjusted his feet on the top step, already shaking.

The dark.

He thickly swallowed and went down the first step.

The door slammed shut behind him. He jumped and caught himself on the railing, which was about as sturdy as the rest of the damn staircase.

The total nothing around him bore a remarkable resemblance to the bathroom. The absence of existence — of life — echoed around the empty room. There was no telling what would be lurking down there. It was only a matter of time before something would grab him, just like things had in the bathroom, and throw him somewhere else.

It scared the shit out of him.

He debated turning around. Trying something else. There’d be more than one thing for Adam to do here, especially if he had two hours, and—

But he couldn’t. He needed to go in. For Lawrence.

Adam let out a shaky breath and forced himself to take a few more steps. But he only got so far before freezing in place again.

He cursed under his breath. “It's just a fucking room Adam, pull yourself together.”

His heart slammed against his ribs as he slowly descended, keeping a death grip on the railing.

“For Lawrence, for Lawrence, for Lawrence,” he mumbled to himself with each step.

It was a miracle his wobbly knees didn’t cave and send him toppling to the ground floor. He uselessly scoured the room for something. Something other than random shapes. Something other than faces that he knew weren’t real and horrible crime scenes that he wasn’t so sure about.

He used to love the dark. As kids, he and Scott would go camping with Scott's dad. Mister Tibbs had a talent for picking the darkest days when there were the fewest stars. They would stare off into the woods, telling each other stories of the creatures lurking in the trees and what they did for fun. Usually, it was that they’d eat kids named “Adam” or “Scott,” because apparently, they never had anything better to do and the names signaled a delicacy. Sometimes, when Scott's dad was sleeping, one of them would rustle into the woods, and the other would try to sneak up on him.

Some of the best moments of Adam's entire childhood were spent in the dark.

But now, it fucking terrified him.

Adam reached the bottom of the stairs. He felt around the walls, frantically searching for a switch.

He found it, and he swiftly clicked it up.

The light wasn't blinding. There weren't fluorescent bulbs that burned through Adam's eyes.

One welcome change, at least.

But these lights weren’t the change Adam would have hoped for. They illuminated just enough for him to see. He squinted and blinked for a few moments, trying to make out shapes — real shapes — in the dark.

He heard a scream as he looked around.

In front of him was a makeshift stage, much like the one for Scott's concert. Under the dull stage lights was a basic drum set. Four pieces. Didn’t even look like a real set.

Connected to the drums was a string. He followed the string, and it led him to a machine before disappearing into the shadows of the ceiling.

The ceiling that a hooded figure was connected to. They screamed again.

Without thinking, Adam raced over to them.

“You're gonna regret this!” they screamed.

Adam stopped dead in his tracks.

“You're gonna regret this.”

He was far, far too familiar with that one. He’d heard it every other day for as long as he could remember, at least as far back as elementary school. Any time Adam pissed him off or stepped a single foot out of line, it was that stupid phrase.

He’d regret it.

He’d always regret it.

Adam reached out and shakily pulled the sheet off.

The person winced under the light and blinked furiously. Adam looked at their arms and legs, each limb connected to a string that sprawled out in each direction before looping around pulleys and disappearing into more shadow.

“X” marks the damn spot again. As if the tapes from Adam’s first game were still in play. As if the entire thing was one drawn-out hellscape.

Except this time, they were the “X.”

Between grit teeth, the person hissed, “The fuck are you doing here? I thought you were… How…?”

Adam stood there, mouth hung open.

A pawn. Another fucking pawn.

He wanted to say something. Anything. An apology, an explanation, something to start defusing a bomb that wasn’t even lit yet.

But he only managed one word.

“Scott?”

Chapter Text

"Sco-Scott? Are you...?" Adam faded off as he stared at his friend.

His best friend, once upon a time.

Scott stared back, brows scrunched together. His bound hands were curled up into fists, and he had a wild look in his eyes. "How—" he scoffed. "How are you here, Adam?"

Adam stepped closer, his mind racing.

He wanted to know if Scott was okay, first of all.

But of course not, he's in a fucking trap.

He didn't manage to ask before more questions filled his head. Questions about if Scott knew anything about what had happened to him. If he knew how long he had been here, or had any idea where 'here' was.

But he could only look, mouth still dumbly hanging open.

"The fuck are you..." Scott grumbled something to himself, then snapped, "Get me out of here!"

Adam finally choked out one of his questions. "Are you hurt?"

"Adam, I swear!"

Damn it, focus.

Scott was right, they could assess all of that later. If Adam and Lawrence had fought the entire time, or fussed over the useless details, they never would have gotten anything done. Instead, Lawrence had insisted on helping each other. On gathering and providing information.

Adam nodded and turned to look around.

Gather info. That's what he needed to do.

And surely there would be a tape recorder, or a note, or that creepy puppet somewhere nearby to give him some more arbitrary rules.

All he had to do was find it.

One step at a time.

Next to him was a heavy door. In the corner to his left, he spotted a tape recorder in the shadows. Adam walked closer.

It was hanging from a wire that traced back to the timer above them.

"S-so look around first," Adam murmured to himself. "The timer can't start if—"

"What?" Scott asked loudly.

Adam spun on his heels and walked over, gesturing to the tape recorder. "It's connected to the timer. So nothing will go off, nothing will hurt you, while I look around and figure out what to do."

Scott's eyes still looked wild. He hissed through his grit teeth, "Adam, you had better get me out of this right fucking now."

"I will in a second, just let me—"

"Adam!"

"You don't understand!" Adam shot back, then he slammed his mouth shut.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"Excuse me?" Scott spat.

"Lis— just listen, okay? I've..." Adam let out a breath. "I've been through hell here, okay? I am telling you, if I look around, I can find something to help us." He stepped closer. "Just let me look."

He could already tell that hadn't landed. The look wasn't leaving Scott's face. The one that he always got after standing up t—

"Get the tape," Scott ordered, voice rising, "and get me out!"

But looking around was part of the game. Knowing your surroundings. The bathroom had proven that much. So many secrets were held within those four walls. So many clues. If they hadn't looked around, he and Lawrence might never have figured out the stakes, never found the hacksaws. Or they may have sawed their feet off from the beginning and left, helpless, to bleed to death in the green hallway.

Adam glanced at his bare and filthy left foot.

Maybe that's what he should have done.

Instead of having a fit at the beginning and breaking his saw, Adam should have cut himself free. He should have been the one crawling out, searching for help as his blood stained the tile and concrete. He should've had to be the one to bring someone back.

Or he could have just let Lawrence kill him the minute he found that gun. Or let him really poison him with those cigarettes. Lawrence would be with his wife and daughter right now, and the band of misfits at Adam's little funeral would get over it one day.

He had made so many choices. But it felt like the wrong one over, and over, and over.

Adam sighed.

He had trapped Lawrence here. He had dragged Scott into it, too.

He did this.

So why should he question Scott?

"Adam!" his friend snapped.

He looked up. "You-you're right. I'm sorry."

Scott grunted as Adam walked right towards the tape. He clicked it, and Jigsaw's too-familiar voice echoed out into the dark room.

"Hello Scott."

Scott continued to struggle against his restraints. Adam furrowed his brow.

Gotta listen, man.

He put the recorder to his ear.

"You have been friends with Adam for most of your life. A friendship should provide many things: comfort, support, care."

What did that have to do with anything? His friendship with Scott has been rocky for a while, but Scott was the only one who stuck with him all that time.

Only one who could 'put up with Adam's crap,' as Scott always put it.

"But in poor Adam's case, you've caused him nothing but pain. You have been the Puppet Master in his life, and he has been the pitiful little Marionette, ready to do your dirty work."

Adam frowned.

Wrong. This guy has it all wrong, it—

"The hell did you do?" Scott snapped.

Adam had a habit of accidentally causing a lot of problems. Call it bad luck. And Scott was there to help him understand where things fell apart.

But here? Now? What had he done?

He had no idea.

"I—"

"Adam might be pathetic, but you are despicable."

Adam winced.

Thanks, he's gonna love that one.

"What was that?" Scott yelled.

"Adam has sat back in the shadows his entire life, watching you work. Sometimes doing the deeds himself. But now, it is his turn to play the Puppet Master."

"Oh, how fucking poetic!"

"Scott, ple—"

"Shut up, Adam!"

"Adam, I hear you always wanted to take a shot at the drums. Well, this is your chance."

Adam's blood ran cold.

"How do you know all this?" he whispered.

His eyes snapped up to the camera, as if they could hear him from all the way over there. As if they would give him an answer.

All he got was Scott shouting, "You and your damn drums!"

"The wires holding Scott in place are connected to the machine nearby. You must sever the connection to set him free. The only way to get him down is to set off the machine near you. It will cut his ropes."

Adam looked at the wires on Scott's limbs. They all hovered over blades, blades that had thick wires running to some box — the machine in question, probably — that connected up to the half-finished drum set.

Circuit.

"Close the circuit," Adam said under his breath.

"The machine will turn on once you correctly play a set rhythm on the drums in front of you. The sheet music for your performance is behind that door. All you have to do is open it, and put your knowledge to the test."

Scott demanded, "Open that damn door!"

Adam looked at it.

No way it's that easy.

"In ninety seconds, the ropes will fully extend, ripping Scott limb from limb. And every time you get the notes wrong, they will tighten further."

Scott's eyes looked like they were about to bulge out of their sockets. "Adam!"

"The band already tried to tear you apart. Now, we will see if it finishes the job."

Get Scott out. Get Lawrence out, get Scott out, get—

I have to get him out of this.

"Scott! Scott, just hang on, it'll be okay!"

"Adam, can you take control? Or are you forever bound to be an apathetic pawn?"

"Who the hell is that?"

"I don't know!"

"Make your choice"

Adam heard a click and he spun around. He lost his balance and doubled over. The world faded in and out, a ringing started up in his ears.

Shit, shit, not now.

He gasped for air.

All the while, a mechanism was making loud sounds and Scott was screeching over it.

"Adam! What are you doing?"

Adam groaned and looked at the timer.

81...

"Fuck!" he hissed.

He was wasting time. Had just wasted precious seconds. He was always so good at messing stuff up. 

He looked at Scott. "I-I'm gonna fix this! You're gonna be alright!"

Scott kept shouting. The ropes tightened as each second went by.

76...

Adam ran over to the heavy-looking door below the timer.

Open it, and get the sheet music. That's what he had to do.

72...

"Adam, what the fuck do I do, what, what do I—"

There was no way it was that easy.

He tuned out the whirring of the machines and the yelling. He needed just a moment. All of the tricks from the bathroom, and this house...

There had to be something here.

68...

"Come on, Adam! Please!" Scott's tone made Adam wince.

He hadn't sounded like that since they were kids.

Adam slammed his hands against the wall.

Do it, do it, come on Stanheight.

He grabbed the doorknob and started to open it.

He froze.

There was resistance there. Resistance against the handle. Even starting to turn it was a struggle.

Adam took in a deep breath and peeked in through the door. Connected to the opposite side was a black wire.

Adam's gaze followed the wire and—

Shotgun.

Adam slammed the door.

Gun. There was a gun. Not just a gun, a shotgun. He closed his eyes and thickly swallowed.

Open the door, and boom. It'd be over. No Adam left to save Scott.

Careful.

61...

Adam's eyes flew open.

He grabbed the door handle, crouched, and slid to the side.

The shot echoed in his ears.

58...

He sat there for a moment, shivering.

If he hadn't looked, if he hadn't taken the time to figure that whole thing out, he would've taken another round to the shoulder. And that was best case scenario.

Can't believe a single thing these tapes say.

He forced himself off the ground and through the door.

In the middle of the small closet, a sheet of music was dangling by a clothespin on a string. He yanked the sheet off and marched to the drums. Scott continued to scream at him, but he was doing his best to tune him out.

52...

Tighter. Those ropes were getting tighter. Adam could hear the strain as the ropes pulled against Scott.

"Hurry up, Adam, please!"

He was. He would.

Adam reached the drums and looked at them. There were four parts to this set.

A bass, a snare, and a ride and crash cymbal.

Lark had tried out the drums before and gave Adam makeshift lessons. Reading the music was never something Adam was too comfortable with.

But he'd have to make an exception now.

He let out a breath and put the sheet on the rickety music stand, squinting at it. "C'mon, c'mon."

There were four different notes. Four different parts of the drum. Two circles and two X's.

Circles were drums. Lark had taught him that. Two drums and two cymbals.

Full fuckin' set.

Or half-set, anyway.

Only other thing he remembered was FACE for the spaces between the lines. Although Lark said it didn't matter for percussion, it stuck with Adam. And thank fuck for that. F at the bottom, E at the top. 'Where eyes go,' Lark had rattled off, as if he'd heard it a million times.

Adam didn't notice at first, but he started rambling to himself under Scott's noise. "First note, circle, C, the, the..."

Adam ran his fingers through his hair.

Then he slammed his finger on the note. "Snare."

If he had a pencil, he could write a reminder. But he didn't have the luxury.

Didn't have the time, anyway.

He looked at the snare drum on his left and put his hand on it before looking at the other notes.

Then Scott's screaming got louder.

"Hurry the fuck up, man, please! This shit—"

His own screams cut him off.

45...

The next note was an X. A cymbal. Way high up on the sheet. So high up that they made up a new line for it.

"Shit," Adam whispered.

He always got these mixed up. They were so close together.

He studied it, held the sheet close to his face.

"Crash," he decided aloud.

Maybe it was right. Maybe it wasn't. But going with his gut was better than dawdling all day and wasting Scott's precious seconds.

Okay, snare, crash cymbal.

And next was the ride. Right above E.

"Snare, crash, ride."

38...

Adam swore he heard something tear as Scott screamed.

He turned around, and his eyes widened.

Scott was suspended in the air, stretching out between the tightening ropes. Tears ran down his face and his eyes were closed. "Adam, please!" he choked out through his grit teeth.

Adam faced the drums again. He kept staring at the sheet.

It was quaking in his hands.

Snare, crash, ride, F, F, F, F.

"Bass!" he shouted. Although he couldn't hear it over Scott.

32...

Adam picked up the drumsticks next to him and pounded out the notes in order.

Snare, crash, ride, bass.

26...

He heard a blood-curdling scream. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

"Idiot!" Scott shouted between his grit teeth.

He didn't want to look. He couldn't. His heart beat against his ribs.

He fucked up. Where? How? 

"What did I do, what did I do, what did I—"

He gasped.

The cymbals. He mixed the cymbals up.

'Ride to the right.' Lark's silly little mantra echoed in his ears.

"Fuck!" Adam snapped.

19...

The sticks slipped in his clammy palms. He cursed again and forced himself to beat out a rhythm.

Didn't have to be good. It had to be right. Fuck the proper way to hold the sticks anyway.

Snare, crash, ride, bass.

Adam turned around to look at Scott.

And he let out a silent sigh of relief as the machine chugged to life.

The sticks slipped out of his hands and clambered to the ground. Adam raced over. The wheels in the contraption spun, just like the blades near the ropes.

They sliced through and Scott fell to the ground in a heap.

"Scott!"

Adam knelt down and grabbed his shoulders. "Scott? Scott, I'm here."

His friend was quaking under his touch. Tears were mingling with the beads of sweat rolling down his face. He jerked away from Adam, eyes wide.

Scared. When was the last time Scott Tibbs was scared?

Adam forced words out.

"Are-are you okay?"

Then he sighed.

Of course he wasn't okay, none of this was okay.

Adam should have taken the bullet instead of milling around and wasting time. Should have just done what he was told instead of asking questions.

So stupid.

He needed to figure this out. Whether Adam liked it or not, their lives hinged on him. He was the one with experience now. The one with some sort of direction.

He needed to get them both out.

Adam didn't reach for Scott again. But he did try to offer a smile.

"You'll be okay."

He choked on his next words. Words he wished he could say to Lawrence, too.

"We're gonna get you outta here," he whispered.

He couldn't fail. Not again.

Chapter Text

Adam had learned long ago to not get too close to people.

As a kid, something about him drove people away. And not just the kids at school, who judged every move he made. His dad was always angry. Mom was swamped at work and usually had to bring it home. So he spent most of his early childhood by himself.

One day, he found this cat hiding under their shed. After a bit of coaxing, it came up to him. From then on, he knew he was meant to help them. Help those ‘non-judgmental creatures,’ as he started to call them. He begged his mom for a toy cat, which she got him, and spent time in his school’s library, drowning in books about animals with the cat stuffed under his arm.

It was better than sitting outside at recess and watching the other kids stare. He didn’t have anyone to share his newfound knowledge with, but that edge had dulled.

And then one day, in Adam's kindergarten class, there was a new kid. The teacher explained that his family just moved to town, and that they were to welcome him with open arms.

Adam figured the chances of that were slim.

The new kid sat down next to Adam.

And then he struck up a conversation. Asked Adam about his cat toy before starting to ramble about his family’s dog.

Adam had a kid to play vet with at recess that day.

And from that day on, Adam had someone in his corner.

Scott was always the leader of their little pairing. He had better ideas, and he was a couple months older.

The age gap seemed like a big deal at the time.

Despite everything that happened between the two of them, from little arguments to full-on fights, Adam stuck with Scott. And deep down, he was sure that Scott wanted it that way.

Most days, anyway.

Their entire childhood, they would have sleepovers every other Friday night, no matter what. They would alternate whose house they went to, and they would always find themselves lying on the ground, eyes glued to the ceiling, talking about whatever came to mind.

And here they were again. On their backs, eyes blankly staring above them, just feet away from the death machine that had almost ripped Scott limb from limb.

They hadn’t said anything yet. Adam had tried a few times, but what could he say? So, as usual, he waited for Scott to take the lead.

If Scott ever deserved that right, it was definitely now.

Eventually, he took it.

“I thought you were dead,” Scott choked out.

Adam quietly sighed. He couldn’t be the only one who thought that. Adam's mother was out there, surely worried sick about him.

Scott scoffed. “Then you show up out of nowhere and damn near get me ripped apart.”

Adam's brows scrunched together. “What?”

“Kept trying to 'look around' when I was over in that thing,” Scott argued while pointing at the machine.

Adam opened his mouth, then slammed it shut again. He learned long ago to not bother arguing with Scott. Especially when he was convinced Adam messed something up.

He did what he usually did. What usually defused the ticking time bomb that was Scott Tibbs.

“I’m sorry,” Adam murmured.

Scott stared at him for a moment, then groaned and went back to staring at the ceiling.

The new silence between them ate away at Adam. He forced words out. Anything.

“How was the concert?”

Scott scoffed. “It fucking sucked. We needed you there, man. The audience was crap, they never sang along, and, you know them. You know how to get them hyped up, and—”

“I dunno what to tell you, man. I was a bit busy,” Adam interrupted coolly.

He could take a lot from Scott. But going off on him about this? After the hell he just dragged Scott out of? After the Iron Maiden, and the bathroom, and Zep, and getting shot, and…

Don’t think about that...

If the biggest problem that came out of this was him missing a concert, Adam would be thrilled. There would be more shows, and he could organize those things to Scott's content after they got themselves and Lawrence out of this.

“Just wished you were there,” Scott replied.

Adam sighed again. “I know,” he said pointedly.

Scott looked over on the edge of Adam’s vision.

Adam explained curtly, “Your cameraman was generous enough to give our host a copy of the tape.”

Scott scoffed. “What?”

Adam looked over. Lawrence knew about Zep. Maybe Scott knew about the cameraman, maybe knew enough that they’d piece together what happened.

“Did you know him? Recognize anything about him?”

“I knew that dude was shady.” Scott moved again. “Short brown hair, jacked. Said he was in the military for a while. Never saw him before.”

Adam sighed. He didn't know of anyone like that either. Knowing who Zep was didn't help that much, but having no clues…?

The two were silent, lost in their own thoughts.

But Adam’s wandered. What was going through Scott's mind? Memories of how he got here? Did some puppet laugh in his face to distract him from the pig mask too?

After a moment, Adam finally asked, “What happened to you?”

He didn't expect the chuckle that came from his friend's lips. Scott's eyes darted around briefly, as if he was watching everything unfold above him.

“Well,” Scott started, “after the shit-show that was the concert, I went looking for you. But when I couldn't find you, Lark showed up and tried to tell me all about how it was some misunderstanding. Guy pissed me off so bad. I needed him to leave, but he wouldn't, and I did the only thing I could think to do.”

Adam’s eyes widened.

Scott didn’t need to be wound up much for Adam to become a punching bag. But Lark? That only happened once. The guitarist came out of it with a black eye, but Scott was in the emergency room getting stitches.

“Don't tell me you—”

“Yup, sure did.”

Was Lark okay? If Scott wasn't kept in check, or drunk off his ass, did he overpower their friend and—

Scott smiled. “I went out and got wasted.”

Adam let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, yeah… Much better.”

Getting hammered, now that was a regular thing. Scott didn't need a reason to go out and waste the night at some bar.

He looked over at Adam, brow furrowed. “What?”

Adam squirmed. If he went too far, he could be drilled into next. But holding things back from Scott would be worse. Especially in a place like this.

The bathroom taught him that much.

“Thought you meant you and Lark…”

“Oh! Went at it? Nah man, he'd just kick my ass again.”

The two chuckled at that. It was starting to feel like old times, back when the two of them had so few problems to worry about.

Adam was missing his life away from this place more and more.

“But yeah,” Scott continued, “I drank too much and passed out. Woke up here with a bag over my head and not a damn clue of what was going on. ‘Til you came by.”

And almost let you get ripped apart.

“You got me outta there, even you took your sweet fuckin’ time about it.” Scott winced and let out a huff. “Thanks.”

Adam furrowed his brow.

Scott hadn’t thanked him in a long time. He wasn’t one for words of affirmation. Adam should be glad to rouse that out of him, but it just confused him. Made him anxious. Why did it take saving Scott from certain death to warrant a simple ‘thanks?’

He couldn't explain it.

“What happened to you?” Scott chuckled. “You look like crap.”

Adam looked down at himself.

The blood from the drills had started to dry, speckling his shirt and skin in dark smudges. His clothes were torn and frayed. He didn't even want to know how his hair looked, or how messed up his face was from the drills and his busted nose.

Scott was right. If anything, he was being generous. Adam looked worse than crap.

He tried mustering up a simple answer, then realized there wasn’t one.

He looked at Scott. “You remember that doctor I was following around?”

“Yeah. The weird one with the hot intern?”

Adam flinched. After everything else, he had forgotten what he had said about Lawrence when he was little more than money in Adam’s pocket. He was just the shady, weirdly awkward doctor who snuck around with a nurse at his hospital. He and Scott liked to make up their own stories about what his targets were up to.

Now, those same stories left a sour taste in his mouth.

He should never have said all that stuff, much less about Lawrence.

Stupid.

He forced a nervous chuckle before continuing. “Well, I finished handing out fliers for that concert. Went home, dealt with Cranky Dude, developed the shots I had taken that day, then fell asleep. I woke up and all the lights were out. Found a puppet—”

“A puppet?”

Adam smirked. Something about the way Scott had said that, it reminded him of when they would joke around back home. “You heard me.”

Scott rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Smartass.”

It almost felt like they were teenagers again, finding some way to make light of whatever had happened that day. Despite the crap Scott had put Adam through, he was always good at helping him feel better.

Scott gently nudged him with his foot. “Go on, Ace Ventura.” Adam scoffed. “You found a puppet…” Scott arched his brows.

Adam rolled his eyes. “I broke it and then was kidnapped by someone in a pig costume.”

Scott opened his mouth, but Adam cut him off. “Don't ask.”

Adam’s small smile faded. He still wasn't sure what happened. It felt like one moment, he was using the flash on his camera, and the next, he woke up in that tub. Whoever was hiding in the closet must have been very strong.

The guy who was at Scott's concert, maybe?

“Anyway, I woke up in a bathroom that made my apartment look like a fuckin’ mansion with a cleaning service. And the doctor — Lawrence, by the way — he was there. He uh… he was… tough, but after a while, almost… nice, and…”

Adam slowly cut himself off. Scott didn’t need to know. They were gonna find him, Adam was sure of it. And the last thing Lawrence needed was for Scott, of all people, to know all about him. To know about his wife and kid. Know about what put him on the other side of that bathroom. Know what his current problem was.

And even if Scott knew it, no telling if he’d be of any use.

“Then everything went wrong, and I… was left there. Never thought I…”

Would make it out of that filthy hellhole.

“But, back to your point, I missed the concert because I was stuck there. I tried, but I literally coul—”

“I get it, dude. I get it.” Scott sighed. “I'm sorry for saying all of that, okay? It uh…” Scott clicked his tongue. “It's been a very long day.”

Adam scoffed. “Ain’t that the truth.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Adam gave him a smile.

He missed this. As they grew up and delved into their own little worlds, they had stopped spending time like this. Talking. Figuring out life. These conversations with Scott had helped Adam get through more than Scott could ever know.

But here, they didn’t have much of that luxury, either.

They needed to go.

Lawrence. The timer.

Adam sat up, wincing at his raging muscles. He stood, knees popping and blood rushing to his head. He blinked, waiting for the feeling to subside.

He held his hand out to Scott. “Let's get you outta here.”

Scott smiled and clasped Adam's hand. He used it to pull himself up.

Then he clapped Adam on the back. “Let's look into getting you out too, yeah?”

Adam smiled. Maybe more people would care than he realized. His mom, the cat, and now Scott. Somehow, the list was growing.

He smirked. “I guess you do owe me, I did kinda save your ass back there.”

Scott rolled his eyes and half-smiled. “Oh no, he’s gloating again.”

“Shut up, Tibbs.”

Scott gave Adam a playful punch on the shoulder, another thing they had almost ritualistically done as kids. “In your dreams, Stanheight.”

Adam chuckled and led the way towards the door. Before he got there, Scott caught his shoulder and spun him back around, shaking his head.

“No, I've got this one.”

Adam cocked his head, frowning.

Scott smirked. “No offense, it just…” He shook his head and looked down. “Was a bit too close to the last one ending differently, yanno?”

Adam furrowed his brow.

Right. He let it slip his mind. And if it happened, if he messed up…

Scott pat Adam’s shoulder. “Let me take it from here, yeah?”

He didn't wait for a response before turning and leading the two of them out the door.

Scott moved frantically, clicking his tongue at every door in sight and trying every knob he could get his hands on.

It wasn't long before Adam started to feel it. That damn nerve agent. Scott’s speed was too much. A flutter took root in his chest and became a lump in his throat. He coughed into his hand.

New blood. Fresh. Sticky. Paired so nicely with all the other stains on his skin.

Keep going, Adam. It doesn't matter right now. Just keep going.

But his heart felt ready to explode. And if he didn’t stop, his body would make him.

And then what? Jigsaw never mentioned Scott having a role in saving Lawrence.

“Scott,” he choked out before doubling over, heaving for air.

Scott’s pounding footfalls stopped. “Adam? Come on, we’ve gotta go.”

“Please,” Adam wheezed.

Scott pursed his lips and walked back to Adam, arms stretched out.

Adam tried to grab him, but the world was spinning. He slammed shoulder-first into a wall and coughed.

Blood spattered onto the floor and Adam shakily wiped away the droplets stuck on his lips.

“Fuckin–” Scott hissed. “What are you, sick or somethin’?”

Adam was still busy fighting for air. A whole explanation would be impossible. He’d die from talking too much.

Later.

“S-Something like that.”

“What, what do you need? Like, medicine, like…?”

Adam took in a deep breath and forced himself to stand straight. He may as well have inhaled acid.

In a way, he supposed he was.

But he had to stay strong. Scott didn’t want to see this. No one did, save for the freak on the other side of the cameras.

“Sorry,” Adam mumbled, wiping his mouth with his hand again. He tried to ignore the ringing in his ears.

That only made it worse.

“Just need to get out of here,” he muttered. “Don’t let me slow you down.”

He used the wall to support his first few steps, and then he managed to find his balance.

Scott lingered at his side for a moment, and then went back to trying doors, zigzagging from one side of the hall to the other.

Adam silently groaned as he followed, clutching his chest and still fighting with each breath.

Strange that he needed air to put out the fire in his lungs.

He was trailing behind Scott, but maybe that was for the best. Scott could search this whole damn hall and come back. No use waiting on Adam’s dillydallying.

And plus…

Adam slowed as his eyes landed on a picture frame. The only one with something on it.

He stopped in his tracks. “Scott, wait.”

Scott slammed his hand on whatever door he was trying to open before walking over. He hummed at Adam, brows raised.

Adam held up a finger as he stared at the paper.

It was the same white, crisp square with his name written in bold on the front. It was folded up, just like before.

Adam looked at the camera in the hallway while ripping it off the wall. “The fuck do you want now?” he grumbled.

He unfolded the note, grimacing, but at least starting to catch his breath.

‘I'm So Sorry’

Adam looked at it and scrunched his eyes. “So much cryptic shit.”

“What’s it say?” Scott asked, hovering at Adam’s shoulder.

“I'm so sorry.”

He had heard that recently.

“Oh, yeah,” Scott said with a scoff. “Yeah, apologies fix all of this!”

Adam's eyes widened.

He heard it on that bed. That damn bed. Something kept him down. He felt buried and heavy. Experiencing the world through a fog that chained him in place.

“I'm so sorry.”

Lawrence. Lawrence whispered it, voice cracking. He could hear the guilt, the remorse. As the doctor moved around and worked, Adam could feel his stare. As if Adam would get up and run away if he glanced away for even a moment.

It's okay, Lawrence. It's okay.

“Will he regain full use of his arm?” Jigsaw asked at Adam’s side.

Everyone sounded far away. At the end of an eternal tunnel.

Lawrence sighed. “He's strong. It's possible, but he's gonna need way more than what I could ever give him here. It's getting infected, and the bullet… He needs a hospital.”

And yet, for some reason, they were here.

Where are we…?

“Well, it's your job to get him there,” Jigsaw murmured.

Lawrence mumbled something. Adam couldn’t make it all out, but he swore he heard a breathless whisper in the middle. “I’m sorry.”

Adam wanted more than anything to tell Lawrence it was okay. It wasn’t his fault. None of this was his fault. They were pawns in a game, doing what it took to survive.

“I need a stronger anesthetic.” Lawrence explained. “I don’t want to hurt him. Please, J-“

“You know we can’t do that, Doctor.”

Cold hands grazed his skin and pulled his loose-fitting shirt down. The frigid touch felt foreign and spread through his nerves, coating his entire body in dull ice. Fingers poked and prodded his shoulder.

“This is gonna hurt like hell.”

Adam heard Lawrence ‘tsk’ while he continued to feel around.

Please stop, Lawrence, please.

“He's gonna get an infection if I don't do this,” Lawrence murmured.

Jigsaw weakly chuckled. “Of course. I don't need a doctor to tell me that one.”

Lawrence grunted. “This is gonna hurt him like hell,” he repeated.

Then he had waited for something. Looking back, maybe waiting for Jigsaw to change his mind. But the moment never came. Instead, a bottle popped open and gloves snapped against skin. The sounds echoed eternally in his head. It all reminded him of when he had to go to the doctor's.

He hated doctors. Except maybe—

Fire engulfed his shoulder.

He heard sizzling. Could feel flesh falling off bone. But all he could manage to do was lay there, melting into the table.

In a fleeting, final moment of mercy, everything started to fade. A single second of peace before the lights flicked off. His single gift in this freakshow.

But not before Lawrence muttered something to him, barely scrounged up behind the ringing in his ears.

“I'm so sorry.”

Chapter Text

Scott was walking too fast.

He had matched Adam’s pace for a while, in a silent understanding that Adam was trying his best. But Scott grumbled with each door that refused to budge, and kept picking up the pace, and Adam was only able to shuffle after him.

The flutter in Adam’s chest returned, and the hot sticky mess seeped out between his lips. He shivered and took in shallow breaths. He felt like he was suffocating, no matter how hard or how deep he breathed.

The world spun.

His knees buckled and he tumbled to the ground.

“Adam!” Scott’s cry sounded far away as he rushed back to Adam’s side. “A-Are you okay?”

Adam panted. He looked to the ceiling, coughing up mess, and saw a timer on the wall. He wanted to ignore it.

But he needed to know.

He couldn't see what it said. He held up a shaky finger and pointed at it. “Wh… What does it…”

Scott scrunched his brows together before following Adam's stare.

“An hour and two minutes.”

Adam nodded and closed his eyes. They started to sting.

Halfway…

“What happened to you?” Scott asked.

Adam didn’t want to, but he had to tell Scott. If nothing else, maybe it’d make him slow down.

“If that timer hits zero…” Adam wheezed for air. “I'm dead.” He coughed. “And… And then Lawrence dies too.”

“Okay, I'll ask again. What happened to you?”

Adam took in another deep breath of the poisonous air around him. “Nerve agent,” was all he could choke out.

Scott gave him a confused look. Adam gulped down air, trying to elaborate. “It kills you t-two hours after you start breathing it in. I've been here for… for one.”

He used to be the fast one of the two. Adam was always ahead of Scott when they walked outside, even walking backwards sometimes to really rub it in his friend’s face. When they were kids they would race around, and Adam always won. Even when Adam would try to let Scott get his own little victory, both for his sake and Adam’s, he would outrun him out of habit.

Adam swallowed back the metallic taste in his mouth. “I can't go that fast anymore, man.”

Despite that, he had to get up.

Lawrence.

“I-I need to get to Lawrence before that timer stops. I gotta… gotta help him before it's too late.”

Adam rested his forehead against the floor and breathed sharply as the world spun around him.

Scott mumbled something to himself, but Adam couldn't make it out. “Thought you were trying to get me out, like you said.”

“Of course I'm gonna get you out, too.” Adam gave him a shaky smile. “Y-You're my best friend.”

He would always get Scott out. Save him as many times as he had to.

“You're making it sound like that doctor guy is your best friend,” Scott muttered.

Jealous.

Of course Scott was jealous.

Adam shouldn't have said that.

Stupid.

He tried to brush it off. “Not really. He's just… like the dad on all the coffee mugs. ‘S funny.”

Although, deep down, Lawrence was so much more than that. Adam looked up to him. The doctor helped him and encouraged him in that bathroom, when nobody else would have, even if they had the chance. Lawrence was a cheating scumbag, sure, but he had plenty good in him. Good that Adam wished he could inherit somehow. Show. Adopt.

But telling that to Scott? Forget it.

No use rubbing salt in the wound.

“It's you, Scott,” Adam whispered. “Just you.”

Scott let out one of his grunts of approval. “Good. Need you to…”

When Scott trailed off and glanced away, Adam hummed.

Scott chuckled at the floor. “Nothin', don't worry about it.”

He held out a hand to help Adam stand. He took it, but when he got heaved to his feet, everything spun around him. He started to fall back down.

Scott’s arms looped around him. Adam used Scott to find his balance again.

Scott smirked. “Let’s go, old-timer.”

Adam quietly scoffed. He took the first few steps with Scott’s supervision, and then Scott started down the hall again, much slower than before.

He was trying. It was a start. And he had to be anxious to find something. Even a few less steps at a time helped.

“Thanks for… slowing down,” Adam murmured.

Scott hummed in reply.

No longer preoccupied with a lack of air, Adam’s mind had room to wander. He could only imagine how long it’d been since he woke up in that shackle and lost the life he knew.

Seeing Scott reminded him how badly he screwed it all up.

He shouldn't have let stupid things distract him when he was in school. Although he’d never admit it aloud, he was smart. Definitely smart enough for the garbage they had been learning. He understood the material. But he couldn't stay focused, no matter how hard he tried. On homework. In class. Didn’t matter. It all seeped through his fingers.

He had let his dreams drift further and further away, to the point where they were now completely unreachable.

Something that he regretted every single day.

Maybe none of this would have happened if he lived the life he hoped for every night as a kid. He wouldn't have pissed off one too many people, and he would be helping animals instead of breathing in toxic fumes.

In the bathroom, he had told this to Lawrence. Outside of his mother, the doctor was the most supportive of Adam’s long-abandoned dreams.

Lawrence had just tossed him the picture of Diana. At first, it reminded him of the siblings he had always wanted but never had.

But the more he looked and the more they talked, he thought about all those missed opportunities. Anything would’ve been better than the bathroom, but that felt like something special.

“I remember I wanted to be a vet. Really, really wanted to be a vet. Then I saw the grades you needed to get into it, and I pretty much knew it was a pipe dream.”

Just like Scott had always told him.

He had looked back down at the picture of Lawrence's smiling daughter. The girl had her whole life ahead of her. He saw the optimism, the unbridled potential that he had seen in himself, once upon a time.

He frowned.

He had so horribly ruined his own chances.

Lawrence shook his head. “What garbage. I've seen kids with brain tumors who've completed high school from a hospital bed.”

Meanwhile, Adam had dropped out despite knowing that he could have done it. “Then they got further than I did.”

There was a silent beat. Adam gripped the photo a bit tighter, being careful to not leave any creases. He couldn't ruin what Lawrence had left of his daughter.

He refused to ruin something else. Between his grades, dropping out, being an amazingly bad test-taker, and all the things he had done with Scott…

“Yep, I think I can safely say it's too late to become a vet.”

He had said that same thing to Scott multiple times, and he was always met with a grumble of affirmation. Adam had readied himself for Lawrence to give him that same agreement. Something about hearing others agree, though, pushed him further from that dream every time.

But Lawrence had surprised him then. Even made Adam smile in their own personal hellscape.

“It's never too late.”

That's something Adam kept telling himself while trailing behind Scott. His heart was pounding against his ribs. It felt like his brain was about to either explode, melt, or fade away. Didn’t matter what came first.

But maybe, somehow, it’d be alright.

It's never too late.

Adam smiled and whispered under his breath, “We are going to get out of here.”

Something else the doctor had told him.

And he would find a way to prove him right.

Soon, Adam saw a door further down the hallway adorned with red writing.

Adam pointed. “Look.”

Scott paused before running over to the door. Adam shuffled after him as fast as his body would let him.

“Ready?” Scott asked him.

After Adam nodded, Scott threw the door open.

They looked around the new room. He didn't see any huge death machines or guns, which was a good sign.

“I think this is my favorite room in the house,” Adam muttered. “Nice and cozy.”

The room was pretty small. It was dull, just like the entire rest of the house, and the boarded-up windows gave it an eerie vibe. The space had a strange green hue hanging in the air.

Adam saw a small table. It looked decrepit, its plain brown surface fitting in perfectly with the rest of the room. On top of it were thrown-around newspapers and mugshots. They all detailed crimes and arrest records.

He only needed one glance to know who they belonged to.

Scott.

Aggravated assault, burglary, vandalism.

All the cases were on the table in front of Adam, staring at him.

He knew about these. Every single one of them.

And he let them happen.

He had told Scott that it was wrong. That he was hurting people. But Scott always told him that he was being annoying and thinking too hard. That Scott just wanted to blow off steam. And he’d make a point to ask why Adam assumed it was any of his damn business in the first place.

And Adam would shut up.

Apathetic. Pathetic.

Yeah. Sure looks like it, doesn’t it.

There was one more paper, a note, on the table. Adam’s name was written on it in bold.

He chuckled nervously and looked at the camera. “Damn, I'm flattered, really, but you've gotta cool it with the love letters.”

He unfolded the paper and furrowed his brow.

No cryptic phrases. No memory meant to surface.

Instead, one simple question, with a meaning clear as day.

Do You Really Trust Him?

He scrunched his brows together.

Of course he did. Why wouldn't he trust the person who helped him when they were kids? Who wouldn't trust the one person who ever gave some semblance of a damn about him?

He read further down the paper.

You're Smarter Than That

Adam grumbled and looked back at the camera. He crumpled the paper up.

“The hell does that mean?” Adam shouted as he started to wind up to throw the paper.

Scott turned around. “What was it?”

Adam stopped short and put the paper behind his back.

He had thrown plenty of clues just like this back and forth with Lawrence. He never knew, the notes might prove useful before long.

“Oh, nothing.” Adam smiled as he put the paper in his back pocket. “Just cryptic shit about games. The usual.”

Scott chuckled and turned around. Adam frowned.

'Do you really trust him?'

Why would the note say that? Did Lawrence ever say—

“Yo!” Scott exclaimed, making Adam jump.

He let out a sigh. “What?”

“Check this out!”

Adam followed Scott's voice, stopping short when he saw what Scott was crouching over.

The puppet.

The damn puppet was there, looking right at Adam as it sat perched on its trike.

He eyeballed it as it gave him that condescending smirk, like always. It was only a matter of time before it laughed at him, too, its cackles echoing off the walls and ricocheting back into Adam's ears.

The puppet freaked him out here even more than it did at his apartment.

It was following him.

He hated that damn puppet.

“Isn't it cool?” Scott asked, a huge grin on his face.

Adam didn't like this. Why did it keep moving? How did it always know where to find them next?

“Stay away from that thing, Scott,” he ordered. Although, with his quaking and croaky voice, it didn’t have much bite.

Not that Scott ever thought Adam had bite.

The singer scoffed. “What? He's adorable.”

“That thing is not ‘adorable.’”

“Adam.”

“Scott.”

Scott rolled his eyes and got closer to the puppet.

Lessons. Scott always tried to teach Adam lessons. And this was probably going to turn into another one.

But Adam knew this puppet. Was terrified by the thing. They needed to get away from it. Why didn't Scott get that?

Maybe he just misunderstood.

'You're smarter than that.'

“I’ma call him Frank,” Scott murmured.

“Frank?”

Scott hummed in agreement.

Adam scoffed. “Why?”

Scott shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “Cause I said so?”

Adam only stared at him.

He’s not serious.

“Frank's hurt,” Scott mumbled while pointing at dents in the puppet.

They made Adam smirk. He had put all his strength into hammering into it in his living room. At least there was some proof of that.

“Mhmm. From when I whacked the fucker with my bat.”

“You've met Frank?”

Adam rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips. “Frank was in my apartment when some lunatic drugged me and took me to the Bathroom of Death. So yeah, I'm familiar with Frank.”

Scott smirked. “Badass,” he drawled.

No. No, it was not ‘badass.’

Scott stood. “Sounds like you and Frank have some talking to do.” He slapped the puppet across its white, disgusting face. “Go ahead.”

Adam side-eyed Scott.

“Really?”

“Go ahead. You'll feel better.”

There was a huge difference between beating up the intruder when he was healthy and in his apartment, and beating it up with the little energy he had left.

The puppet had come back, despite his efforts back home. It would be a waste.

Adam shook his head.

Scott's lips curled up. “C'mon, it'll be fun.” He gave Adam a soft punch on his good shoulder. “It'll make ya feel better.”

Adam raised his eyebrows and slowly looked at the puppet.

This is so fucking stupid.

“Please,” Scott asked while flashing him an exaggerated smile.

Adam sighed. Scott wasn't gonna let up.

May as well blow off some steam.

Just like when they were kids.

Adam curled his hand into a fist and brought it back.

He thought about the bathroom and all the secrets it held. He thought about everything that the place represented. All the lives that were lost and the hopes that were shattered.

And he punched the puppet off its tricycle.

He thought about how badly he wanted to be out in the halls, looking for Lawrence, and not here, beating up a damn puppet that didn't know better. He thought about how fast his heart was racing already, and all the energy he was wasting on a fucking puppet.

And he swept the tricycle out from under it. He raised it above his head and beat the crap out of it. He raised and lowered the tricycle. Visions of Zep appeared in his head, on the backs of his eyelids.

He threw aside the trike and snatched the puppet up by its neck, gripping as tightly as he could.

He thought about his mom. His dad.

About the last thing he had said to them.

Adam had driven to their house, head down as he trudged up the steps to their front door. He was playing with his keys before he knocked.

He occupied his mind by looking at the exterior of the house he had so many memories of. He remembered all the times he played in front of it. All the times he helped his parents decorate for the holidays. It always seemed to bring everyone together. His parents' arguments would become spotty, for once agreeing to do a few fun things for their son. They always wanted to top the year before.

He had smiled at the door and the memories it shared.

It opened.

His mother was standing there, still in her scrubs. She had a heavy, exhausted look on her face.

But she smiled when she saw him. “Honey! Honey, come in!”

She hugged him tight, and he embraced her right back. His chin rested softly in the crook of her neck.

He had walked in and looked around. The house had the same green carpet and white walls. It was bright, homey. He loved it there.

But he hated doing this.

His dad grunted at him. Adam nodded back before looking back at his mom. “Mom, I, I'm behind on rent again and—”

“Honey…”

Adam had looked down at the fuzzy green carpet. He always focused on it during these conversations. It distracted him. Comforted him somehow.

“My landlord says I've gotta make up for last month too, and—”

His dad shot up from his spot. “I told you this before and I'll tell you again. Last time was it. You're not gettin' any more. You spent it all on that girl, didn't you?”

Adam sighed.

His ex-girlfriend. Yeah, he sure had. He took her to a punk rock concert after bringing her to dinner, where she ordered the most expensive thing she could find.

Then she ran off with Scott.

Said Adam was too angry.

“I'm sorry,” was all Adam could say.

“Get out.”

His mother tried to interject. As usual. Coming to his defense. “Sweetie, no—”

“He needs to get out. I can't do this right now.”

Adam had looked at them with his eyes wide.

This time, his mom stopped fighting. She was now the one looking down at the carpet, and his dad was staring daggers at him.

“Dad—”

“Get out!”

“Mom,” Adam's voice cracked.

Tears welled into his mothers eyes, just as green and piercing as the carpet.

After a few moments, she whispered, “Go.”

And that was something Adam would remember for the rest of his life. His disappointed, defeated mother who had finally had enough of his problems.

Adam’s hands scrunched into fists. “I know, I know. I'm so fucking disappointing.”

“Adam, watch it.” His dad crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well guys, hate to say it, but you're stuck with me. Maybe if you had more kids like I begged, at least one of them could make you proud. But nope! You're stuck with this.”

Adam had turned and walked out, tears in his eyes as he slammed the door.

Didn't bother saying ‘I love you’ to either of them.

That was the first time he could ever remember leaving their house without at least saying it to his mom.

And now, in this moment, as he uselessly strangled a puppet, he wanted more than anything to be able to go back and fix it.

That was the last conversation he would ever have with them. He would fade to nothingness in these wicked halls, and his parents would live the rest of their lives thinking he hated him.

He didn't tell his mom—

Adam body-slammed the puppet against the wall. And then he did it again. And again. And again, and again, and—

His knees gave way under him and he collapsed to the ground, shaking.

He used the last of his energy to pound his hand against the floor.

“Fuck!” he spat.

Scott chuckled. “Damn, went a bit too hard, huh?”

“Stop!”

Adam blinked rapidly and tried to get his vision back. His head was pounding. Something oozed down his upper lip. He hurriedly wiped it.

Red was smudged across his hand.

The puppet hadn't felt a thing, and Adam was still here. Far away from mom.

Wasting away.

And it’d stay that way unless something changed. Unless he finally learned something. Unless he figured out how the hell to get out of here.

If he didn’t, Adam would never hear his parents' voices again.

He would never be able to say sorry to his dad, or tell his mom how much she meant to him.

And he had caused that.

“You sure seemed to enjoy it,” Scott muttered.

“I told you I didn't want t—”

Scott cocked his head and sighed before walking away.

Adam let out a quiet sigh.

He was the one who caved. The one who let Scott’s trivial little pestering bother him so much.

“Scott?”

He turned, brows raised.

Adam caught his breath. “I'm sorry, just…” He looked down. “I don't know what I can handle anymore, yanno?”

Scott nodded, but still walked away.

“Sure,” he said coolly.

Adam sat there for a moment, mouth open as he watched his friend go back into the hall.

Then he looked to the ground and sighed.

How could he fix this?

Chapter Text

The puppet was staring at Adam.

Its head was tilted to the side, limp from where he dropped it. He hadn’t dealt nearly as much damage this time. In fact, he was the only one who seemed hurt at all.

Those red, disgusting eyes sent shivers down his spine.

If he didn’t get far away from this thing, it was going to drive him fucking crazy.

Adam forced himself off the floor and made his way towards the hallway. He refused to let himself give it one last glance, instead electing to slam the door on it.

“Lettin’ some steam out?” Scott asked, making Adam jump.

His friend was standing against the wall, next to the door. His foot was propped up against the wall, something he did a lot in high school when he tried to act tough.

“We gotta go,” Adam muttered as he tried to brush through.

Scott caught his arm, pulling Adam back towards him. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. He asked curtly, “Got the energy now?”

“Scott.”

Adam yanked his arm out of Scott’s grasp. He braced himself for a blow, something that Scott had resorted to many times before.

But it didn’t come, and instead, Scott sighed. “Really wish you hadn’t talked to me like that in there.”

“Like what, like you made me–”

“I didn’t make you do shit, Adam! You need to get that through your head.”

Adam went to open his mouth, but one eyebrow raise from Scott made him slam it shut.

Scott was right, as much as Adam didn’t want to admit it. That whole thing was stupid, and Adam knew better. But just like in the bathroom, he let it go too far.

“I’m dealing with a juvenile.”

When Lawrence said that to him, it stung. Yeah, it also pissed him off, but it just reminded him of how much he sucked at this stuff.

Adam looked down at the ground. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey.”

Adam looked back up, and Scott loosened his jaw. He wasn’t smiling, but by Scott’s standards, it was pretty close. “Whatever, alright? Let’s just keep goin’.”

He didn’t need to say that twice. Adam nodded to him and led them away from the door.

Silence existed between them during the brief walk down the hall. They stopped short and groaned in unison when they saw a marked door directly in front of them. It had the same ominous red writing as the previous ones.

The Most Beautiful Invention On This Planet

Adam's eyes narrowed. He could remember himself saying that same thing in the bathroom.

Next to him, Scott was fidgeting. He seemed to be trying to suppress it, maybe more bothered with his pride than anything else. Adam pretended not to notice. No reason to take that from Scott, too.

He knew what it was like to wake up in some dark room and have no idea what to do.

“I’ll go first this time,” Adam said with a smirk. “Make up for earlier.”

Scott nodded, and Adam gave him a half-smile before opening the door.

A sharp, disgusting smell pelted his nose. He recoiled and coughed, but forced himself to walk in.

The room was very basic. It freaked Adam out.

They seemed to be in a small kitchen. It had the same darkness as the rest of the house from the boarded-up windows and the same weird green tint.

A gate separated the room into two sides. On the opposite side was a stove, its coils damaged and unstable.

And on his half of the gate, a peephole on one wall, and on the other was a toilet.

The toilet.

“That damn toilet.”

Its dull white exterior stuck out from the even drearier walls. It was right there, not connected to anything.

The door they entered through slammed shut.

Adam's heart raced and for a moment, he was back in the bathroom. With the same gloomy atmosphere, looming nothingness, and that damn toilet that followed him around, just like the puppet.

It felt like the walls were closing in on him again. The plainness of this room would consume him just like the bathroom did.

“You're fine, you're fine,” Adam muttered to himself.

“Huh?”

Adam looked over at the shaking man next to him. Scott was trying so hard to keep it together, and Adam could see the frustration on his face. Frustration masking anxiety. Fear. Scott needed Adam to be strong right now.

So Adam tried his best to swallow, before letting out a shaky sigh instead. “Nothing, Scott. It's okay.”

Adam walked to the toilet, ready to stick his hand into the disgusting bowl again.

But he stopped short.

Cigarettes. Lit cigarettes.

The toilet was full of them.

It was tempting. He hadn't smoked in so long.

He could still remember the last time, the same time where he pretended the cigarette killed him.

Who knew what had happened to these? They could have poison on them. They could be a trap — in more ways than one. Hell, they could be rigged to explode for all Adam knew.

He learned long, long ago to not trust anything these psychos gave them.

Not worth it.

Scott walked behind him and let out a breath of relief.

“That's what I'm talking about! This is my favorite room!” Scott exclaimed while reaching into the toilet.

Adam swatted Scott’s hand away and looked at him with wide eyes.

Scott scoffed. “The fuck, dude?”

Adam shook his head fiercely, getting dizzy from the motion.

“Dude, c'mon! I haven't smoked in so long!” Scott yelled.

“You're gonna put something you found in this room in your mouth?”

Adam’s mouth hung open as his own words sunk in. He looked away.

Lawrence.

That's exactly what Lawrence…

He sighed and walked away, side-eyeing Scott as he approached the center of the room. “Don't even think about it,” he scolded.

Scott threw up his hands and scoffed. “What-ever.”

Adam looked at the ground and frowned.

It was wet. The liquid ran throughout the room and around the table.

Adam squatted down to study it. The repulsing odor became more overwhelming. He had an idea of what this was, but…

He had to check.

He dipped a finger in the trail and held it to his nose.

His eyes widened.

Gasoline.

There was gas all over this room.

Adam sprang up. The motion made his ears ring. He raced over to the gate and gripped the bars, leaning in so he could get a better view.

There was a lighter on top of the exposed coils.

“Shit."

If they got too hot, lighters combusted. He and Scott used to see how big of an explosion they could make with them. He would steal his dad's lighters, despite the talking-to he’d get later in the day for it. Their fires got huge.

With gas in the mix…

“Jesus, Scott, they're gonna try to set us on fire!”

“What?”

Scott walked over, and Adam gestured towards the table. Scott spun around, looking for something, Adam wasn't sure what.

Scott spotted a tape recorder near one of the walls and pointed at it. “Th-there! We need that!”

“Hang on, hang on.” Adam grabbed Scott’s arm. “We are working with fire here. We really need to be careful and—”

“Fuck that!” Scott snapped, ripping his arm from Adam’s grip.

“Scott!”

But before Adam could find a new hold on his friend, Scott raced over to the recorder and ripped it off the wall. He pressed play, and the sinister voice started all over again.

Idiot.

“Hello, Adam. Scott. If you have been led here, that means you are both still alive. Congratulations!”

Adam rolled his eyes.

“Thanks, lunatic.”

“Scott, as a form of recreation, you have ruined the lives of those around you, setting fire to their once normal, successful lives.”

Scott started to pace. “How do you know that? How the fuck do you know that?”

“And Adam, you have simply sat and watched, too weak to do a thing about it. Too... apathetic.”

“Adam, how does he know who you are?” Scott screamed.

Shut up, I can't hear.

“Today, are you going to learn your lesson, or will you let him burn you too?”

Adam silently sighed.

Get to the point.

“What do you want?” Scott spat.

“The room in front of you contains Adam's lighter. It is surrounded by the gasoline that is present throughout the entire room. If that lighter ignites… Well, I think you know what will happen next.”

Scott still would not shut up, even now that the voice was telling them the rules. “Let me out!”

“Shh!”

And then Scott snapped at him. At his one friend in all of this. “Leave me alone!”

“In sixty seconds, the heat coils underneath the lighter will turn on, setting the lighter on fire. Turning the device off is easy, but you're going to need a key to get to it.”

“How the fuck do I get a key?”

“Scott, please be quiet!”

“Shut up, Adam!”

“The key can be found in that toilet, but I warn you, it'll burn you too.”

Adam looked at the toilet. The cigarettes.

He knew exactly where this was going.

“Scott, you have always been the leader, forcing Adam to aid you in your hobbies. But I implore you to let him take control.”

Scott stopped pacing and looked at Adam. “What does that mean? Why you?”

Adam scoffed. “How am I supposed to know?”

“On the side of the room opposite the toilet is a peephole. What you need is in there. But only Adam can decipher it.”

Scott rushed up to Adam and slammed him against the wall.

The impact blasted all the air out of Adam's lungs. He wheezed as Scott spat in his face. “What are you hiding from me? What does that mean?”

“Scott, are you willing to let him take control? Are you willing to sit back and let him find the way, or will you get yourselves burned?”

Adam took in a deep breath and managed to choke out, “S-Scott? What are you—”

“Live or die. Make your choice.”

There was a click as the timer began, and Adam and Scott looked over in unison.

60, 59, 58…

Scott let go and walked over to the peephole. Adam rushed in front of him.

Scott grabbed his wrist and pulled him back, bringing their faces just inches from each other. “What do you think you're doing?”

“The tape said I need to read the clue!”

Scott shook his head frantically. “No. No, I will read it, and you will start looking for the key.”

Scott threw Adam towards the toilet. Adam lost his balance and caught himself on the wall.

He turned back. “Scott!”

Scott grumbled something under his breath.

Then he wheeled around and grabbed Adam by the collar of his shirt. “You are pissing me off! I am going to help you find the key. Just let me look at the damn clue first!”

Adam scoffed. “You know full well that you just want to be the one to solve this. Even though it is made for me! You're gonna get us killed!”

Scott clenched his jaw as he stared at Adam.

Then he curled his hand into a fist.

Adam didn’t see it before it slammed him in the face. For a moment, the lights went out, and he collapsed onto the toilet.

Cigarette smoke and heat flooded his eyes.

He screamed.

He yanked his face back, tears already streaming down his face. Smoke and soot mixed with salt and stung the cuts on his face. He turned and saw Scott’s silhouette walking away.

“Oh,” Adam said with a scoff, “fuck no, you didn’t jus—”

“Just check the toilet and I'll look at the clue,” Scott said coldly.

39…

Scott could have fucking blinded him.

When we get out of this—

Adam shook his head. He needed to focus.

He looked at the toilet. He hovered his left hand over the bowl, squeezing his eyes as tight as he could.

“Do it, Adam!” Scott yelled.

More worried about my side of shit than the fucking clue you were so obsessed wi—

Adam buried his hand down in it and screamed, fishing through the cigarettes.

Hundreds of miniature fires grazed his hand as he uselessly shuffled through all of them. He could barely feel the tips of his fingers.

He forced himself to open his eyes long enough to look at the clock.

28…

Adam screamed again. From his hand. From the stinging in his eyes. From the ache on the side of his face that Scott just caused.

Where is it?

“Any luck?” Scott asked as he kept looking through the peephole.

“Shut up!”

Adam pulled his hand out of the toilet. He cried out and hugged it to his chest, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

It didn't make sense. It wouldn't be in there. Why would they need a clue for that one?

18…

They wasted so much time.

“It's not fucking in there!” Adam hoarsely shouted.

He stood up, heart pounding and head spinning, and made his way over to Scott. His left hand was pressed to his chest, and his right was balled up at his side.

“Adam, what the hell are you doing? Get back—”

Adam shoved Scott out of the way with his good hand.

12…

“The fuck?” Scott snapped.

Adam grumbled incoherently to himself as he looked through the peephole.

You Really Wish You Had Checked In There First

9…

“Fuck!”

“I really wish I had checked in there first.”

Adam sprinted over to the toilet. He shoved the top off.

6…

And right there. Right there, staring at him in the face, was the key in the clear water.

Adam reached down and yanked it out. He raced to the gate.

3…

He unlocked it with his right hand and ran to the stove.

He could see the flames ignite, but he found the switch.

He turned it off.

1…

Right on time.

His shoulders dropped as his heart kept wildly pounding against his ribs.

He could have—

The door behind him whipped open.

Adam hugged his hand to his chest again. He doubled over and threw himself out the door, stumbling as far away as his mangled body would let him.

He dropped to his knees, wincing as the jolt touched his hand to his body. Tears seeped into the burns.

His hand was trembling uncontrollably. It felt like it was still on fire.

It shouldn't have been. And they should've gotten out in plenty of time.

If Scott had just…

I almost died.

And just like that, he realized that he had been wrong. There would be more grieving, heartbroken guests at his funeral than just his mom, the cat, and even Lawrence and Scott.

His friends in the band, the wait staff at his favorite restaurant, the people at the vet clinic he used to volunteer at.

They would all miss him.

When he saw that flame, imagined himself going up in smoke, he was more terrified than he had ever been in his entire life. Of letting those people go, of missing out on the life he could have, the good life.

Adam curled into himself, a tight ball on the ground.

He needed to get out of there. No matter what it took.

Chapter Text

Adam didn't know how long he sat there looking at his hand, studying it. Small circles were littered along, some faint from where the cigarettes grazed him, some deep where they were forced hard against his skin.

They all still felt like they were on fire.

And Scott had done that.

Maybe he misunderstood? He could have thought Adam needed something from…

'You're smarter than that'

Adam thud his head against the wall. He didn't know if that note was left by his captors, or if Lawrence had managed to leave it there. But Adam read it in the doctor's voice. It was comforting, he supposed.

At least, separate from what just unfolded in that room. Separate from the eerie foreshadowing the simple words held.

Lawrence would have smacked the crap outta Adam if he tried to pull a stunt like that.

“Maybe I have a thing or two to learn from you, doc.”

Adam had done some dumb stuff in that bathroom. Mistakes that screwed him over and could have made things harder for Lawrence, too. But his recklessness and stubbornness had been nothing compared to Scott shoving Adam to the floor and disobeying the tape for the sake of control. For the sake of his ego.

That was idiotic.

Adam closed his eyes and curled up tighter.

What would Lawrence do?

The door next to Adam swung open, and he jumped. Scott emerged from it, peeking his head around in search of him.

Adam scowled.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Scott was holding one of the cigarettes between his fingers. Toting it around like it was just another smoke from the shady gas station he liked going to.

“Seriously?” Adam asked coldly.

Scott took a deep puff from his cigarette. “Looks like someone needs a smoke break.”

He took his other hand out from behind his back and showed Adam a second cig. He held it near Adam, close to his face. “Tada!” he said with a sing-songy lilt.

Adam grit his teeth and recoiled. Just the sight of the thing made his eyes water and his hand burn. Nausea returned, too, as he scooted a few inches away.

“Get that thing away from me.”

“Dude, listen—”

Adam sprung up, doing his best to push the dizziness aside. “No, no, you listen. You almost got us killed! We could have died in there, Scott! Do you get that?”

Even when Adam was at his worst and terrified out of his mind in the bathroom, he had never done something that idiotic. That self-destructive.

“Adam, you need to chill. You should have—”

“Do not pin this on me! The tape told us point blank that I was supposed to read that clue. But you refused to even let me try!”

Adam paced around and ran his fingers across his face. Fresh blood — from his nose, maybe, but he wasn’t sure — made his hands slip, smearing more across his skin.

“Hell, I could've gotten us outta there in fifteen seconds. I shouldn't have had to reach in there at all.”

He shook his hand when it started to throb again. All the movement was killing him. But he couldn't stop—

“Look, your hand will be fine.”

“That's not the problem, and you know it.”

The problem was that Adam didn't have a damn clue who he could trust anymore. Everyone around him seemed to be a pawn, a psycho, or reckless.

Lawrence. Lawrence was the single exception. But everything — everyone — was trying to keep him from the doctor.

Scott walked closer to Adam, letting their noses touch. “You're pissing me off. If you had just listened—”

“Back off, Scott.”

Adam was sick of it. Sick of the lies, the tricks, the blame being thrown on him.

He had messed a lot up in his twenty-five years. But he sure as hell didn't deserve the blame for this.

“If I had listened,” Adam continued, “we would be dead. In there, surrounded by flames. You feeling in control is not worth our lives.”

“Well, if your dumb ass took in your surroundings—”

“That's what I wanted to do from the very beginning, dammit!”

Adam wanted to apologize for acting this way with Lawrence. The arguments. They must have been infuriating.

Scott stared silently with a clenched jaw as Adam raised his bad hand. He waved it back and forth as if he were parading it around for the entire world. “Look at my damn hand, man! You did that. You…”

He lost his breath. He steadied himself by resting his good hand on his knee.

He couldn't back down. Not now.

“…almost got us killed,” Adam whispered.

That was the best he could do. His racing heart felt like it would burst inside of him. He heaved in and out, willing his vision to return. He looked up and made out the silhouette of Scott standing there with his arms crossed, calmer than before.

“If this is about the cigarette, I…” Scott shuddered and pointed to the cigarette, now dropped and abandoned on the floor. “I didn't know. I thought you would like it.”

Adam sighed.

Whether it was a misunderstanding or not, they were stuck here for now. And Lawrence’s truth in the bathroom was just as valid here, too. He had been right — he always was.

There was no sense in them not helping each other.

“Look, we've gotta stick together.” Adam held out a hand to Scott. “You wanna work together? Then let's work together.”

He looked at the silent man in front of him. Scott's mouth was hung open, a look of genuine confusion on his face. His eyes darted around, trying to read Adam.

Adam silently took his hand back, a thin frown pressed across his lips.

Whatever.

He spun around without another word, leading the way back through the hall. The door they had come through led them to the furthest left point of a hall, so they turned right. Adam looked around, keeping an eye out for any more slips of paper while they marched on.

They found themselves walking back towards the middle room with the staircase.

“Nowhere left to go but up,” Adam murmured.

He lightly gripped the railing, the steps creaking underneath him. He readjusted his grip with each step and kept his eyes on the top. Despite the slow pace of his movements, he felt the thud in his chest with each step. His breaths grew more and more shallow.

He reached the top and rested against the wall, waiting for Scott to join him.

Scott with his rough, heavy steps that caused the stairs to shake.

As Adam placed his hands on his knees and waited for his vision to clear, he remembered when they were kids. When Scott had convinced Adam to throw the life he had worked for away.

Adam was about to start the second half of junior year — high school, not college, Adam never made it that far. Scott had just had his seventeenth birthday, and the milestone got him thinking about taking the band more seriously.

“I have an idea,” Scott had told Adam.

Adam had just finished a project that he knew would not do well. He had stayed up all night working on the thing, but naturally, he just couldn't put the content into words like he was supposed to.

He had straightened up from his desk, grumbling at the interruption. “Yeah?”

“Wrath of the Gods!”

Adam chuckled and put his pen down. There was no use in trying to take notes on how to make it better. May as well blow off some steam with his friend.

“That might be the stupidest name you have ever come up with.” Scott rolled his eyes and Adam smiled. “I like it.”

Scott's face lit up, and Adam couldn't help the pride he felt in his friend's efforts. The happiness and passion he saw in his friend hadn't shown up often since childhood, and Adam had always tried to do everything he could to help him out.

All he hoped was that Scott would stick by him when he figured out his own, less interesting ambitions.

He told Scott, “Don't forget about me when you're making it big, alright?”

Well, that wording sucked.

Adam shuffled around and awkwardly gave Scott a playful punch on the shoulder. They stared at each other in silence before bursting into laughter.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Scott asked.

“No idea.”

When the laughter died down, Adam looked back at his desk and the project that had drained everything from him for the past few days. Scott had just dropped out as a birthday present for himself, and he seemed to be having so much fun.

Meanwhile, Adam had been laboring over some English paper that had nothing to do with vet school or what he wanted to be doing.

Scott stepped forward. “That assignment done kicking your ass?”

“Yeah, I just kinda gave up and hoped for the best.”

“You know, we could use help. Drums and pictures.”

Adam looked at the ground. Why did Scott keep pushing this? Every time they had this talk, Scott would try to convince Adam to drop out on his birthday too. Ruining his chances of ever accomplishing what he was working so hard for.

“You know what I wanna do, Scott.”

Then Scott replied with the same phrase he always used. The one that eventually would convince Adam to leave all of his dreams in the dust, and instead, into the crappy and uneventful life he had become used to by now.

“That's just a pipe dream, and you know it.”

Adam's vision started to clear, and Scott neared the top of the old steps.

Just like every other time Adam thought about that night, he tried to figure out an excuse. Maybe Scott genuinely believed in Adam, and it was all a mistake? Maybe Scott wasn't using him, and it was all a grand plan that had just gone wrong.

'You're smarter than that.'

He was so sick of being a tool, a pawn in other people's stories.

Lawrence had been forced into it. A consequence of their situation.

But Scott had lied every step of the way.

And Adam had fallen for it again.

What would Lawrence do?

Scott reached the top, clutching the rails with both hands. He was sweating, gasping for air. He reached the final step, and he collapsed on the ground.

“Scott!” Adam yelled as he sprinted back to him.

Adam got on his knees and turned Scott onto his back. He strained, arms screaming with the effort it took to help Scott against the wall.

If he was breathing this stuff in too…

Adam tried not to think about it. He had hoped that this was all just Adam's sick game and that Jigsaw and his little group had given Scott some kind of antidote.

But the man's skin was sickening, ghostly white, and hot to the touch. He was dripping with sweat, drained of all his energy from the stairs.

Adam looked up at the clock.

Forty-three minutes remained.

Scott had been stuck here for a bit more than an hour.

About how long it took me to get sick.

Scott panted. “I, I don't know what happened, man. I was fine and it just…”

This nerve agent had done it to Adam, too. It was unpredictable, impossible to guess when you would start to feel it.

“Hit you like a truck?”

The silence answered Adam's question for him.

Adam frowned at the sweat-soaked hair that clung to Scott's forehead. Several strands rested on the whites of his eyes, moving around every time the man blinked.

It looked uncomfortable.

But Scott didn't have the energy to move them out of the way.

Adam gingerly brushed the strands out of his eyes.

I know, man. I know.

Scott took in a sharp breath. “Don't leave me, man, I…”

Adam shook his head and grabbed Scott by the shoulders. Tears clouded his vision as he looked at the person in front of him. Scott always had this outgoing, brute force to him that made itself known to everyone around him. A part of him that got them in trouble more often than Adam ever wanted to admit.

But it's who he was, and Adam already missed it.

Scott looked scared.

And Scott never looked scared.

“Never,” Adam told him.

He couldn't see himself hanging around with Scott anymore when this was all over. The life that Adam knew was long gone.

And that was okay.

But he would never abandon the person who needed him.

It wasn't long ago when Adam was the helpless and terrified one, forever tethered to the hell he had created. And in that moment, despite the frustration he had caused, Lawrence had promised to help him.

And somehow, he had delivered on that promise.

He stuck with the person who needed him more than anything.

That's what Lawrence would do.

Chapter Text

Distractions. Adam needed distractions.

He needed something to help him tune out Scott’s groans. Whether it was pain, or anger, the muttering was starting to get to him.

He needed distractions from the hell that was going on all around him.

But they were hard to find in this bland hall.

The plainness reminded him of his equally decrepit apartment. Where the paint peeled off the walls and he had to jimmy the keys because he couldn't get the maintenance dude to come fix the crappy door.

He thought about the low-quality rap music — a guilty pleasure of his — blaring from a neighbor’s apartment as he marched up the steps.

He remembered the old, grouchy tenant who had convinced himself that Adam was some unemployed dude whose life revolved around keeping everyone awake.

All as he relived his bland day and thumped up those bland stairs leading to his bland apartment.

It reminded him of the life he hated and how badly he wanted to return to it.

He thought about Scott's concert. Adam was so excited to see it. He told everyone about it. People he saw at the store, at his apartment, and…

Adam narrowed his eyes.

And Rockstar.

Rockstar, pacing in the lobby of his apartment building.

Rockstar, with wild brown hair and mysterious dark eyes. With her bold outfit that just… worked. Not everyone could pull off an outfit like that.

“Very rock star!” Adam had called to her as he trod down the stairs.

He had walked past her, eyes trained on the door to leave. He winced at the nickname he had just given her. He wanted to get away and save himself from more embarrassment, he was almost gone and then…

He turned around, facing Rockstar again.

“Sorry, your hair. It's very rock star.” He continued to speak despite her turning her back on him. “I like it.”

That's seriously the best I've got?

“Speaking of rock star. I've been instructed to give these out.” Adam handed her a flier.

'Speaking of rockstar'? Really?

He gingerly passed the flier off to her as he looked at her, trying to meet her gaze. But she was looking down. Somewhere deep down in the optimistic side of Adam's mind, he tried to believe that she was reading it.

But he knew she wasn't. She was looking at the floor, trying to avoid any further awkward conversation with this absolute stranger. She was probably just trying to get home. Or visit a friend. She’d have a fun time telling her friends all about this asshat in the lobby, that was for sure.

But Adam couldn't just shut the hell up.

“My buddy's band. They don't completely suck, as far as buddy bands go.”

It just blurted out. Flew right out of his mouth, the words just as sharp and awkward as him.

She was still silent.

Ugh shut up, just stop…

But the words kept stammering out.

“You live here?”

His eye twitched as she moved down a bit closer to him, frowning.

“Just visiting,” she whispered in reply.

He nodded at her, bobbing his head like an idiot.

Just going upstairs to shit all over him, then. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her boots move away from him.

“I'll see you there!” Adam called after her, finally turning away.

No you won't.

He flinched.

He had to know. He had to.

So despite everything in him screaming otherwise, he turned towards her one last time. “You know what? I-I'm not gonna see you there, am I?”

“Probably not.”

Okay. Go. Leave. It was time to leave.

“Can I take your picture?” He half-smiled.

Real smooth, Stanheight. Real smooth.

But it seemed right, in the moment. He was so used to using his camera to take pictures of shady rich dudes he couldn't care less about. Catch them as they cheated and hurt the people who cared about them.

Felt like his final chance at giving back something to the world.

After the one girl he trusted more than anything ran off with some other guy and broke Adam's heart.

Maybe in some twisted way, he could make use of it. Keep it from happening to someone else.

But that's not what he wanted, that's not what he saw for himself. He was sick of following people around as revenge for some girl that never gave a damn about him.

And in front of him was this Rockstar that he actually wanted to take a picture of.

She smiled at him, and his lip curled.

He was still in awe.

“Hold right there!” He chuckled and took the shots.

The lighting was shitty, didn't do her any justice. The stairs were decrepit, the walls were stained and dark, but despite how it all looked, there in front of him she just looked so…

Powerful.

Amidst wreckage and everything else, there she stood. Her hair wild and free.

“Nice, thanks,” Adam muttered.

It was all he could get out.

“You're welcome.”

And she turned once again, heading up the stairs with the most uncomfortable look on her face.

Uncomfortable.

He had made Rockstar uncomfortable.

And that was the last thing he would be remembered for.

Not his taste in music. Not his job or his dreams. Not his friends.

But for being the guy who made the girl uncomfortable.

That's the legacy that he'll leave in this world if he doesn't—

“Guess we've gotta go in,” Scott told him.

Adam grumbled at the disturbance. He looked around.

He was still in the disgusting house that made him miss his apartment. Still trapped in this building that threatened to keep his corpse as a decoration if he couldn't get the hell out.

The path had led them to a hall with three doors. Scott had probably tried to shimmy around with the two closer ones on either side with no luck, but the one furthest and to their left was wide open.

Adam sighed and approached it. He could feel Scott tense up behind him, waiting for him to lead them through.

The room was tiny. Cramped, even for the house. It was empty, save for a bunch of papers taped up on the walls. Including four horrible, disgusting pictures. Adam barely managed to stop himself from vomiting at the sight.

They were photos of the bathroom. Brutal, close-up shots of the events that had unfolded right in front of Adam.

The toilet that he had fished through at the start. He had uselessly dug around in it before taking his hand out too fast. He spit when the contents splashed out at him.

The hacksaw that screwed him over when he lost his temper. It had snapped in half, his exit ticket completely useless.

Zep.

Zep with his bashed-in skull that littered the floor around him. With the blood that had run down Adam's arm. He could still hear the crunch and feel the squish resulting from bone giving through. He could remember the agony he felt when the once-living, breathing man before him stopped struggling.

He had killed someone.

Lawrence had been told to kill Adam. Meanwhile, Adam went and murdered someone who ended up being another pawn.

Exactly what Adam was. What he always had been.

And just like that, the pawn had done what the knight couldn't.

“I murdered an innocent man.”

Scott's voice cracked out, “You what?”

Adam shook his head, tears swelling in his eyes. It was like his own little crime scene.

His eyes kept darting around the pictures of the bathroom. Of the hacksaw, the toilet, Zep.

And Lawrence…

His foot was in the last photo. Adam would never get the sight of his head. Or wails that bellowed out of the person that he had grown to trust. He could see bone stick out from the foot, and the trail of blood.

But despite how horribly everything had played out, when he was back in the bathroom in the wake of the carnage surrounding him, he hadn't realized how much blood there was.

He knew it was a lot but…

How could a human being possibly lose that much blood?

Adam had no idea where Lawrence was or what happened to him. All he knew was that the doctor was desperate, terrified. He was bleeding out and wanted nothing more than to get back to his wife and daughter.

And Adam was the thing standing between Lawrence and the people he loved.

He had been told to shoot to kill. Then he shot Adam in the shoulder of all places.

A doctor. Who would know better.

Adam was still standing because in the moment, despite the pure desperation and agony in the man's eyes, he insisted on giving him a chance.

Lawrence was the strongest person Adam had ever met.

“I'm coming for you, Lawrence.”

Scott looked over at him. Adam could barely keep down the tears that threatened to emerge.

He was standing here because of Lawrence.

“I found this,” Scott whispered while handing him another note.

He must have found it on the wall that Adam hadn't gotten to.

Adam shuddered and felt at it. The neat handwriting matched the other notes he had collected.

'You Deserved More Time'

No one had said that directly to him. He couldn't remember an instance where someone, even Lawrence, had said this.

But about him?

He remembered laying there, shoulder throbbing after he regained consciousness. They had done something to it. He couldn't open his eyes or thrash his way out like he wanted, but he felt everything.

Heard everything they said as they hovered over him.

“He deserves more time!” Lawrence had shouted.

People talked over the doctor. Even Lawrence, a doctor, and a damn good one, didn’t have a say here. Far from it.

“We said three days, and it has been three days, doctor,” a new voice muttered.

The person sounded angry, serious. Just from his voice, the tone he used, he seemed bigger than Lawrence and stronger than the frail old guy that Jigsaw was. Everything about his presence told Adam that this man could kick all of their asses right there without breaking a sweat.

“Doctor, he needs more than we can give him, you said so yourself,” Jigsaw murmured. “We are putting him in, your job is done.”

“If you would give him just one more day—”

“He starts tomorrow,” Jigsaw interjected. “He's ready.”

“He's not—”

“The answer is no!” the angry guy interrupted. “And you need to leave. If he finds out it's you, well…”

The angry person had trailed off and the room was silent. Even Jigsaw stayed quiet, waiting for the man to gather his thoughts.

“I would hate to have to show you what that means for you.”

Adam couldn't remember anything else.

He couldn't remember the aftermath of that person threatening Lawrence. He had no idea what he meant by “what that means" for him.

Had Adam done something he couldn't remember? Had he screwed something up and caused the man to do something to Lawrence?

What did I do?

“Adam, calm down!” Scott shouted.

He didn't realize how rapidly he had been breathing until black spots swarmed his vision. His heart felt like it would burst out of his chest at any moment.

He had already killed Zep. What had he done to Lawrence?

His vision turned to black. It mimicked the complete and absolute nothing that he saw when he was locked in the bathroom.

Just like back then, he had no fucking clue where the doctor could possibly be.

It was suffocating.

Scott guided him to the ground. Adam could feel blood drip out of his nose and mouth, forming trails on his face. Scott shouted something, but it was muffled by the pounding of his heart and the ringing in his ears.

Lawrence had gone through hell and back to get Adam out of that bathroom.

How the hell could Adam possibly return the favor now?

Chapter Text

"You're gonna be alright," Lawrence had promised. "You're just woun-wounded in the shoulder."

Adam could still remember the sunken, desperate eyes that stared back at him. Eyes that were surrounded with sweat and swimming in tears. They told Adam everything that he needed to know.

Lawrence had to get out of there now, or he would not make it.

There was blood everywhere.

"I-I have to go get help. If-if I don't g-g-get help..."

Adam would never forget how icy Lawrence's skin was. Or the feeling of the hot pool of blood that could drown them in a matter of seconds.

At least Adam wasn't bleeding out. He had to keep reminding himself of that. The doctor was his lifeline there, the one chance he had left. But he needed to go. No matter how much it killed Adam, the doctor needed to leave.

"I'm going to bleed to death."

But he didn't. He got Adam out after all, but Adam couldn't remember a single bit of it. He had no idea if he would ever see the doctor again.

"I miss him," Adam muttered.

He was shaking. He hadn't realized it at first. Adam's eyes were closed and he found himself lying on his back, Scott trying to jolt him awake.

"What?" Scott cried. "Adam, Adam get up! I need you!"

Just like he needed Lawrence. And Lawrence needed him.

Adam pried his crusty eyes open. Tears poured out of them, lights above him going blurry. He could make out the panicked expression on Scott's face.

"Fuck!" his friend yelled. "Are you okay? I thought you were..."

Scott didn't finish the sentence, and Adam didn't need him to.

"I miss him," Adam repeated, louder this time.

"Who?" Then Scott scoffed. "The doctor?"

"I don't even know how he could..."

Would Lawrence even want to see Adam after all of this? After whatever hell he had forced the doctor to go through?

And that's assuming he could get them out of this to begin with.

Adam. The apathetic, pathetic lowlife who fucked up every chance he ever had.

"What happened?" Scott asked him.

Adam sighed. He couldn't relive it all. The thought of going over everything that had happened that day. "I already told you."

"You didn't tell me the full story, and you know it."

What was the point? What good was there in telling Scott how everything had fallen apart in a matter of hours? Every single plan went wrong. So horribly wrong.

It was all happening around him, uncontrollably. And so much as thinking about it made everything rush back in a painful wave.

"I wanna help you, man." Scott winced. "I'm sorry, for all of it. I am. You were always the kid that I could boss around, and you just took it."

Adam felt a fresh trail of blood escape his lips. He didn't have the energy to get rid of it anymore. Scott's lip curled, and he used his thumb to wipe it off.

"Now you've saved my ass twice." Scott smiled. A genuine, real smile. "You can be a real badass, you know that?"

Scott's hands were burning, and Adam felt like his blood was boiling inside of him. As if everything around them was on fire, and they were trapped in the aftermath.

The two of them had always found ways to surround themselves with the evils of the world. All their lives, it was the two of them against everyone else.

"Let me help you this time," Scott whispered. "What happened?"

Adam sighed. Despite everything, Scott had a way of making things okay. He understood, in his own way.

He always did.

His rock, like always.

Maybe he could help here after all.

Adam had to fight to speak. Even that was sucking his energy, in ways he couldn't explain.

"Lawrence's family was on the line. The voice, the one that we keep hearing, it told him to kill me. We tried everything we could, we put ourselves through hell to get out of there. But it wasn't enough. The clock ran out."

They had done everything Adam could think to try. The one thing that Lawrence didn't do was kill him.

And that was the one thing that was Lawrence's sure ticket out.

"He went fuckin' crazy, man. He sawed off his own foot, and..." He gestured towards his shoulder. "Lawrence shot me."

Scott grumbled something that Adam couldn't decipher.

"Then he left, and—"

"Lawrence left you?"

"He had to."

"That's a bunch of bullshit."

There was no way to make Scott understand. How would Adam possibly tell Scott that Lawrence's choice was between staying with some low life who couldn't keep his crap together, and going back to his family? That Lawrence had a choice to leave and maybe survive after all, or stay and bleed out on the tiles? That Adam's only hope for survival had been Lawrence abandoning him?

That no matter what happened, Lawrence had chosen right?

"I tried to help him," Adam whispered.

Not long before he woke up there, he felt like he could never help someone like that. But there, with Lawrence, he honestly thought he would find a way to get them out.

"I'm sure you did," Scott murmured.

"I killed a man, but even that wasn't enough. I tried but it did nothing."

Just like Adam. Like he had always been. No matter what he had always done, it led to nothing.

"I'm nothing," Adam heard his voice crack. "So unbelievably nothing that Lawrence could have..."

Scott shook his head. "Look, you're alive."

Adam chuckled. "Yeah, I'm alive and I'm nothing."

Something that in the past, he had said over and over again. He thought this would be his chance, but Lawrence seemed to get further and further from him with every passing moment, even when they were locked in the room together.

"You've gotta quit saying that," Scott whispered.

Adam drew in a shaky breath. "I know."

"Switch it up or something. Paraphrase at least, damn."

Scott laughed, and Adam chuckled in return. It was the first time Scott disagreed with the sentiment. Sometimes he would be silent, and sometimes he would outright agree.

But now, him saying it here...

And he could hear Lawrence's voice in his ears too, the man always guiding him.

"It's never too late."

"Hey." Scott held out his hand. "Let's get to him, yeah?"

Adam smiled and clasped his friend's hand. Scott pulled him up, holding the weight of both of them. The blood rushed to Adam's head, and he started to fall back down.

But Scott caught him.

"Now you owe me, Stanheight," he told him with a chuckle and a smile on his face. He gave him a soft punch on his good shoulder.

Adam smirked back. "Fuck off. That's two for one, Tibbs."

It finally felt like they were kids again, the two of them finding some way to drown out the world around him. They were each other's rocks.

Always had been.

"Now, let's get the fuck outta here," Scott told him.

They walked towards the door side by side, looking around for any other directions showing them where to go. Scott looked over at Adam, and he opened the door when he was sure they were both ready.

The hall in front of them only went where they came from, and straight. Directly ahead of them, they could see a door that was left open.

They matched each other's pace, carefully advancing towards it, eyes darting around in search of clues or weird puzzles.

It wasn't long before Adam found one near the door. He ripped it off the wall.

"Hey," Scott whispered. "Try not to hyperventilate at this one."

Adam chuckled before looking down at it.

'I Shouldn't Have Done It, I Know'

He didn't need any prompting to read it in Lawrence's voice. Hearing it brought him back onto the hard bed.

Adam had been sleeping for a while.

He was dragged out of the black when he heard shouting. Lawrence was arguing with Angry Guy — someone Adam hated more and more with every second. They were separated from him, either in a nearby room or hidden somewhere, but he could hear everything.

Lawrence had spoken over the other man in a rare moment of brazen anger.

"I shouldn't have done it, I know."

"You did this to him," the angry voice argued.

Thinking back, Adam couldn't remember a hint of sadness or remorse in that guy. He relentlessly boomed over Lawrence.

And Lawrence responded with a tremor in his voice. "What did I—"

"Adam can't leave now."

And that's when Adam felt himself collapse further into the bed, falling like a brick. He clung to it.

'Adam can't leave now.'

What does that—

"What do you mean he can't leave?" Lawrence questioned. "He passes his test, then he goes. Those are the rules."

"That's not an option anymore." The angry person chuckled. "He can't leave, no matter what happens."

Adam hated him. He hated him so, so—

"And you have yourself to blame for that one."

But Adam didn't understand what they could have possibly meant. Lawrence was the reason Adam was still alive. How many lies could have been force-fed into Lawrence?

Adam looked up from the note and straight into the nearest camera. "You leave him the fuck alone."

Scott nudged Adam, his hand shaky and sweaty. "We've gotta go in."

Adam gave the camera one last scowl before heading into the room.

It was bright, blinding. The boarded-up windows did little to stifle the brilliant yellow light filtering in.

Maybe sunlight. The first real hint of it Adam had seen in—

The door closed them inside.

A bed was turned upside-down and thrown down in the center of the room. He knelt down to look at it. A wire was tied to it, and it extended across the room and up the walls, to a timer.

I know how you play. No way I'm moving that right now.

"Move-move that outta the way, Adam," Scott whispered.

"Not yet, trust me."

"You have to—"

"Look, we have to check around before moving the giant, ominous bed in the middle of the room." Adam sighed. "I'm sorry, let's... Just don't touch anything yet, okay?"

He didn't wait for Scott to respond before looking around, spotting a tape recorder hanging up across the room. He made his way to it.

He pressed play and held it up to his ear.

"Hello, Adam. Your rebirth has begun."

"Yeah, yeah. Fuck off," Adam muttered.

He paced around the perimeter of the bed, eyeballing the gaps around it. He couldn't make out what the bed was hiding.

"You have learned the value of your life and the lives of those you know and love. But what about people who have wronged you?"

Scott was whimpering. He seemed to be trying to say something, but Adam couldn't even begin to make it out. He was having trouble hearing over the noise.

Adam put out a steady hand. "Scott, calm down. Just breathe."

"In the pit below you is one of my trusted associates. She carelessly threw your key in the bathtub, allowing it to be sent down the drain. Then after this mistake, she snuck over and tried to suffocate you. She is the reason you are here."

"The fuck do you want?" Scott screamed.

"Scott, quiet, please!"

"And now you have the chance to leave her breathless."

Adam rolled his eyes.

The jokes were pissing him off.

Jokes. Games.

Scott started to yell something else, but Adam tuned it out.

"In two minutes, a device will seal her inside the pit. All the oxygen will be sucked out."

Adam stopped pacing.

Last time he let his anger out towards one of these bastards, he had bludgeoned an innocent man to death. Another pawn, just like him. He wanted the person who put him here to be arrested, not killed.

"Behind the door in front of you is your camera and the identities of myself and my colleagues. With this information, you can publish my story and receive all the fame and glory beyond your wildest desires. But opening that door will close the pit, sealing her fate."

Absolutely not.

Scott's grumbling was getting feral. He needed to shut up if Adam had any chance of figuring out how to get them all out of this alive.

"Or, you can simply help her out of the pit, and continue on with your test. The door will instantly seal and your camera and the evidence will disappear, but you will have saved a life."

Something Adam had learned long ago was that there would never be another death by his hands. It wasn't worth it. What he had done to Zep, despite what he'd done for the sake of their game, had never been worth it.

Scott shouted, making Adam jump. "Fuck this!"

"Have you learned to value compassion and the lives of those around you, or will your selfish desires ruin another life? Will she live or die, Adam?"

Adam's eyes widened and he desperately reached out to his friend. "Scott, no!"

But it was too late.

Scott ripped the bed away, and Adam could only watch helplessly, listening to the timer click on. He slowly approached the pit that was hidden underneath, and he put his hand to his mouth.

There she was.

"Make your choice."

He squatted down at the edge of the pit to stare at the woman in its depths. The ticking of the clock invaded his ears, but he couldn't move.

He was entranced. Staring at the wild and free woman who used to be so full of power. Who now stared back up at him, mascara running down her cheeks.

"Rockstar?"

Chapter Text

Adam couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

He could only stare at Rockstar, with her chocolate brown hair and dark, serious eyes. The power she had in that stairwell — in the scene forever captured by Adam’s camera — was gone.

She was standing there, eyes wide, completely helpless.

And apparently, she had put him here.

“Is–is it true?” Adam asked.

For all he knew, it was a lie. He wouldn't put it past the lying scum that put him here to try and trick him with that too. Make some kind of game out of it.

Look at Zep, and all the lies surrounding him.

Rockstar nodded. “It is.”

How fucking typical.

She had told him she was “just visiting.”

Adam wanted to believe that this was all another trick. Some kind of twisted addition to Jigsaw’s game. That someone told her to say that, and she was just as innocent as him and Lawrence.

But the look in her eyes said it all.

Like a snake, a fly on the wall, Rockstar had stared him in the face and lied. Gathered whatever information she needed on him while she was “hiding” in the lobby, clear as day.

He should have been broiling. Some girl had scoped out his apartment, then snuck in and ripped him away from his home. He had fucked up every bit of their encounter, but he had never earned that.

But seeing her there, as the timer clicked on in the background…

“R-Rockstar…”

“Amanda,” she provided.

The puppet was next to her. It was on its tricycle, staring up at him with the same sinister grin, judging his every move…

Adam shook his head.

Amanda. He needed to focus on her.

He could still hear her voice in his ear, deep from the darkness and the haze of death. In the bathroom, she had said she would help him — free him. Instead, she had come seconds from killing him.

But she failed, and that's what mattered. That's all that mattered.

“I'll get you outta there, Amanda.”

He reached his hand out to her.

He didn't need the timer, or the rules, or death traps to do that. He would never abandon people when they needed him. Not even her.

She stood on her toes, and he extended his hand out as far as he could, pushing against the edge of the pit.

He wasn't sure if his left hand could grip well enough yet — the burns from the cigs still made his skin rage. So he had to use his right, and the pain radiating from his shoulder made him shake.

But he needed to steady. Her life depended on it.

They both stretched out, reaching for each other in a morbid recreation of a Michaelangelo painting. He felt their fingertips graze, and he pushed out one more time, his upper body dangling off the side of the pit.

Their palms interlocked.

Her life in his hands, he pulled up with all the strength he had left. He lifted her off the ground, bringing him closer and closer to doing something good—

Adam felt pressure on his ankles, and he was yanked away.

He dropped her. Her body slammed to the ground with a thud.

When the pressure on his ankle finally went away, he found himself near a corner of the room. He rolled over onto his back.

Scott was standing over him, breathing heavily. “'I'll get you outta there'?”

Adam huffed for air and held his hands out to Scott. Surrender. Protection. He didn’t know. “Calm down,” he whispered.

“I will fucking 'get you outta there'?” Scott spat, “Are you kidding me?”

Adam shuffled to his feet as fast as he could. He glanced at the clock.

96…

They were wasting time yet again, and Scott didn't even seem to care.

“Scott, come on!”

“What the fuck was that, Adam?”

91…

“I have to get her out.”

Scott was trembling, fists at his sides. His knuckles were turning white.

It was like they were in high school all over again. Adam would make mistakes, and Scott would give him this same look before beating the crap out of him. The first time he saw that look was on Adam's sixth birthday.

The most recent? It landed Adam in the hospital.

Adam stepped back as far as he could, and he found himself in the corner.

Scott's expression softened.

“You don't have to do anything. I will do this.”

86…

“What does that mean?” Adam asked with a scoff.

“You took charge when I was about to get ripped apart, and when we were about to get burned. Now, let me help.” Scott pointed to the closet that held the camera. “If we get those shots, think about what that would do for us. We can take down Jigsaw. People would line up to see the band. You could buy your own vet clinic if you wanted!”

Scott was losing it. The nerve agent was eating away at him. There had to be a way to help him. He needed to talk Scott down and figure everything out.

You're smarter than that.

The note echoed in his mind. Taunting him.

All Adam could do was shake his head.

72…

Scott groaned. “Dude, she kidnapped you, and you're really willing to throw this all away for her?”

“Yes!”

How could Scott not be willing to do this?

Lawrence risked everything to save Adam, but Scott was willing to get this woman killed over publicity?

“Well, I'm not.” Scott sighed. “I need you to get out of the way.”

64…

“Good fucking luck,” Adam replied.

“Do you not realize that since she kidnapped you, she also could've gotten me? Gotten Lawrence? It pisses me off that you refuse to j—”

“Scott.” Adam’s jaw clenched, but he fought down the rage seeping into his voice. “Back off.”

He could talk Scott down, he had done it before. His friend was reckless, irresponsible, but he wouldn't stop Adam.

He couldn't.

“It's okay. We'll be fine. Please, calm down.” Adam looked at the pit. “We can't just let her die, man. I know you want this, but it isn't right. Let me handle this.”

“Adam!”

He hurriedly brushed past Scott. His friend grumbled incoherently, but Adam tried to ignore it.

58…

He skidded to the edge of the pit, sliding onto his stomach.

“Amanda!”

She looked up at him, and he smiled at her. He reached his hand out. “Come up!”

Adam extended his hand out again, scooting as close to the pit as he could get. His burned hand supported his weight. She stood on her toes again.

Once more, their fingertips touched. She jumped up to give them an extra bit of height.

He felt her palm graze his, and their hands interlocked.

Adam sat up, pulling with everything he had. The force was ripping the wound in his shoulder back open, but he closed his eyes and pulled even harder.

She used her leg to propel herself up.

He grit his teeth, pulling against the pain.

And she was out.

42…

Adam helped her to feet, and he looked her in the eyes.

He looked at the living, breathing person in front of him. Who just moments ago was so full of fear, and regret, and torment.

And he had saved her.

The apathetic and pathetic pawn.

His heart pounded against his ribs, and his shoulder was throbbing. He gasped for air, eyes darting between her and the clock, waiting for the game to end.

He heard footsteps behind him.

35…

It all happened so fast.

One moment, he was standing there. Then the next, before he even really knew what he was doing, he pushed Amanda out of the way and side-stepped from the mass that came crashing towards them.

And Scott fell down in the pit.

Adam heard his friend scream as he landed on his stomach, forehead slamming into the concrete.

There was a sickening crunch that made Adam’s stomach drop.

“Scott?”

No response. Adam knelt back down.

“Scott!”

He found a pebble. Lawrence had looked dead in the bathroom, but throwing these at him worked.

He needed to try, and they would work.

They had to.

He threw it at Scott.

27…

“Scott, please wake up!”

His friend shuffled around, groaning into the small pool of blood forming around him. “Adam?”

Without hesitation, Adam reached his arm back down into the chasm.

“I've got you!”

Just like he always did. Like he always would. He just had to hang on.

Scott clumsily stumbled up, and he looked at Adam with a horrified look in his eyes. He stood on his toes, and he grabbed Adam's hand.

Adam's eyes squeezed shut. He yanked up with every ounce of energy. Their sweaty palms kept slipping apart. Adam fixed his grip over and over. He got Scott up a bit further, but he coughed and everything gave out on him—

Adam fell.

He stumbled straight down into the pit, rolling on his back.

The thud knocked the wind out of him. Sharp pain radiated throughout his entire body, every wound screaming at him. He looked up, shaking, staring at the pit surrounding him. Adam's heart pounded against his chest as he fought to his feet.

“Adam!” Amanda yelled.

The puppet started to laugh.

It cackled and the sound bounced off at all sides, ricocheting off and forcing its way into Adam's ears.

Scott whispered, “What the fuck just happened?” and gripped his head.

Amanda reached her hand out for Adam. He looked at Scott.

“You're coming, too.”

Adam raced over to Amanda, clasping her hand as he jumped against the wall. He used his feet to help propel himself upwards.

He heard Scott scream behind him and the puppet laughed on.

He brought his leg out of the pit and swung himself over.

And he was out.

2…

Time seemed to slow. The pit now wasn’t just in the floor. It had made a home in Adam’s chest, spreading across his entire body.

It was too late.

“Adam?” Scott whispered.

0…

A machine whirred to life. Adam got to his feet and helplessly looked into Scott's wide eyes.

The empty hole in the middle of the ground was sealed with some clear, hard cover. He heard Amanda walk towards the door.

And the puppet's eyes lit up before its mouth mindlessly bobbed up and down.

“Hello again, Scott.”

Scott was unreachable, and Adam couldn't force himself to move. He stood still as a statue, heart thumping away, staring back at his friend.

And Scott stared right back. “Wh-What the fuck was that?”

His voice came out in a shaky, hoarse whisper that barely pierced through the cover on the pit. He was trembling, doubled over.

Adam wasn't doing much better. His legs could barely hold his own weight.

“Adam has already learned his lesson on the value of a human life. This was your test. I wanted to see if you had learned the same lesson.”

Lies.

How many fucking lies—

“Adam, please…”

“And if you found yourself in this pit, then you failed.”

Amanda came up from behind him. It made him jolt, and he barely caught himself from stumbling towards the glass.

She scowled at him, and she shoved pictures in with Scott, between a hidden slit in the cover.

These bastards thought of everything.

“Those shots are so important to you. Now, you are more than welcome to take them with you and do what you wish with them.”

“Let him out!” Adam shouted. “Amanda, I saved your life! Please let him—”

“You really thought I was in danger there?” Amanda asked with a scoff. “That we didn't have a plan?”

She smirked.

“'You're smarter than that.'”

“That is, if you manage to find your way through the maze in front of you.”

He heard another mechanical whir, and a compartment was revealed in front of Scott. Adam couldn't see it from this angle, but it didn’t matter anyways. He kept his eyes on his friend. Always would.

Scott screamed.

“Adam already received his painful reminder of when you stabbed him in the back, over and over.”

“What do you see?” Adam screamed. He turned and faced Amanda. “Let him out! I played your game and got you out of there, now let him go!”

Amanda only whispered, “It’s the rules.”

The rules. Always the rules.

Fuck the rules.

“He already dealt with his test and the painful reminder of the pain you have put him through your entire lives.”

Adam circled around the pit to look at what Scott's eyes were trained on. His mouth widened and he put a hand to it.

The tunnel in front of Scott was covered with nails. Razor-sharp nails that all angled towards the center. Small openings throughout the room showed a dark, seemingly endless trail.

Scott was silent.

A tear rolled down Adam's face.

“You gave him scars. Now it's your turn to deal with the pain you have caused others.”

Adam fought out words. He had to. “I'll get you outta there, Scott! Just hang on!”

Amanda scoffed. “That is literally impossible.”

He waved her away. “Scott!”

“Will you live or die?”

Scott looked up at him, eyes tinged with red.

The lump in Adam's throat felt like it would never go down. He struggled for air, and tears poured out as he looked at his friend.

His rock.

“You'll be okay, Scott.”

Always.

“Time to find out.”

Chapter Text

This couldn't be another broken promise.

He was supposed to get Scott out. From the moment he saw him, Adam knew he needed to get Scott far, far away from here. No matter what it took.

So why the hell was he down there, trapped?

Adam shouldn't have moved. He should have taken the hit. Should have sucked it up and let Scott figure this out.

Like he always did.

Adam could barely breathe.

“Get me the fuck out!” Scott screamed.

There were no clues, or timers, or secrets to get him back. And Adam would know, he had checked. His eyes were darting all over the place, migrating between corners of the room, Amanda, and Scott.

There was nothing.

Scott was alone, his back to Adam as he stared at the maze of nails in front of him.

“Y-You have to do this one, Scott,” Adam croaked.

He wasn't even sure if his friend could hear it, just above a whisper. Not that it would have mattered anyway.

They both knew.

Scott slowly turned around, staring at Adam. His eyes were red and his face was soaked with tears. He was shaking uncontrollably.

Just as out of control as everything else in this vile place.

“Please, Adam.”

Adam didn't see the angry man who had put him through hell since childhood. He didn't see the lies, the manipulation, or the cruel jokes.

He saw the kid from elementary school. Who hung out with him every day and taught him that he was capable of more than being pushed aside. Who played vet with him and went camping. The little kid who gave him his first glimpse of hope at that age.

He saw the twelve-year-old with spiked brown hair and eyeliner. Who hyped Adam up every time he thought he might like someone. He had encouraged him when he had a crush on a girl, Katie. He had lurked in the corner, silently cheering Adam on as he gave Katie flowers. She laughed at him, and her friend had ripped them out of his hands and stomped on them.

He remembered when that kid ran up to him and hugged him. Told him that she didn't know that she was missing out on and that everything would be okay.

But that kid was now the terrified, hopeless man in the pit.

Scott closed his eyes. “Adam, you, you never…”

Adam wanted to rip that glass off the hole with his bare hands. No matter how long it took, he would work at the thing. He had to try. Even if his muscles gave out, and the nerve agent suffocated him, he would try until his body quit on him.

Tears caught in Adam’s lashes.

He knew that would never do anything.

Scott looked him in the eye. He spoke in the most hoarse, terrified voice Adam had ever heard.

“You were never useless, man.”

No. They weren't supposed to say their goodbyes, not now. They were supposed to be there with each other all through adulthood, and eventually raise all hell at a retirement home somewhere.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Where had everything gone wrong?

Adam wouldn't say goodbye. Instead, he forced a smile. “And you’ve always been a pain in my ass.”

Scott let out the shakiest chuckle.

Without saying goodbye, Adam needed to wish him luck. Tell him that he could get out of this. Scott was strong, the leader, just like he had always said.

There was a way, and Scott would find it.

Adam shook his head. “Please get outta this.”

That was the best he could do. That was the best he would ever be able to do for his friend.

His best friend, who had now turned around and hugged the wall towards the maze. Scott hesitated, recoiling away from the nails.

But he couldn't hesitate. The second he got in there, he would need to keep moving if he ever wanted a chance.

Don't hesitate, Scott. You cannot hesitate.

As if Scott read his mind, he advanced.

And he immediately jolted to the side.

He was just past the entrance of the maze, still visible, thrashing around. Every wild movement shoved him into a new batch of nails.

His screams grew more and more feral by the second.

Adam knees gave out, and he let out silent screams right along with his friend.

Scott kept trying to move forward, and Adam could make out less and less of him. All that was in his line of vision were his legs, bloody and moving in a frenzy.

Hot tears gushed out with each blink of his eyes. The blood was becoming more and more blurred. And for the first time, his troubles weren't from needing to breathe. His vision wasn't flooded with darkness that overcame everything else.

He couldn't see past the tears.

Adam thud his head against the ground, body wracking with silent cries as the screams started to fade away.

And he let out his first audible sob when they stopped all together.

He had failed.

Over and over again.

Adam remembered when they were teenagers, riding in Scott's car after a concert. Adam hadn't picked up a single lyric that the singers screamed out, but they had had a great time regardless.

They had pulled up to Adam's front door.

It was dark out. They had skipped school once again.

“I've gotta stop letting you convince me to do that.” Adam stared at his front door, as if he were talking to that instead. “If I'm ever gonna get into vet school, I can’t do this.”

Scott sighed. “You really want me to stop?”

Adam looked down and played with his hands. He nodded, ashamed. He wasn't doing enough for his friend, no matter what he tried.

“Okay, I will,” Scott promised. “But you'd better give me a discount or somethin' when you're some hot-shot vet, you got it?”

Adam chuckled. His friend always knew what to say.

“So you want my help,” Adam murmured.

“Well, duh.”

“Might need to listen to some of your badass albums when I do some badass surgeries.”

Something that they had talked about as kids. These conversations had dwindled down, replaced with more and more lessons, as Scott always called them.

But sometimes, these talks would come back. The fun ones. Where they talked each other through everything. And Adam would remember where his hope came from in the first place.

“Let's just agree to help each other out. Sound good?” Adam asked.

Scott had chuckled and given Adam a little shoulder punch.

A silent agreement of their promise.

The promise that Adam had broken one too many times.

An empty promise that was just as shattered as Scott. Because Adam hadn't caught him.

He had failed.

Every step of the way.

“I'm sorry, man. I'm so so—”

“Game over,” Amanda whispered.

Adam spun around towards Amanda. Another lie. Another damn lie.

She was standing there, wearing a slight smile on her face. As if everything was going according to plan. Like she wanted Adam to lose his friend while trying to save her.

“Where is he? B-Bring him back!” Adam yelled.

“He had a choice.”

“Oh shut up about choices, Amanda. And tests, and games, and all that other stuff you sick fucks preach!” Adam snapped.

Tears swelled in his eyes. He closed his fists as tight as he could, nails cutting into his skin.

Just like when they were kids.

“Where did he go?” Adam choked out.

“He's gone.”

Gone. Scott was…

It still didn't make sense. He was just there.

Adam turned back towards Scott. “I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so—”

“You have to go.”

“Scott, I—”

“Your timer—”

“Shut up!” Adam shouted. “Shut up! Shut up! Just shut up!”

The spinning in his head was out of control. He couldn't hold it in anymore. He bent over and vomited, blood pouring out of his mouth. Adam's entire body shook.

Amanda went to put her hand on Adam's back.

Adam jerked away. “Don’t.” He pointed at her. “Don't you ever fucking touch me.”

Lies. So many fucking lies.

He hadn't saved anyone. Not a single damn person.

He was standing over the man he had helped twice. But even that wasn't enough.

Despite getting Scott out of danger twice, he still couldn't keep his promise.

All lies.

“In the bathroom, I tried to help you,” Amanda whispered.

Adam scoffed. “By throwing a bag over my face?”

“It was the best I—”

“You could have, I dunno, let me out, maybe?”

“I tried to help you,” Amanda repeated.

Adam rolled his eyes. He could tell that down in the pit, Scott was swimming in a pool of his own blood, scowling at Amanda. He was pissed off at her, and her games, and her lies too.

Adam could feel it.

“No, no you didn't try to help me. You tried to help yourself after fucking up my game.” He stepped closer to her. “But none of that matters anyway, because now my friend is dead. What the fuck happened?”

“When I stopped by the bathroom, were you scared?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

What kind of stupid question was that?

He swore, all these people were nuts.

“Uh, yeah I was pretty damn terrified,” Adam replied. “You threw a bag over my head.”

“And you fought. With everything you had left. You have the will to live. That's what all of this is about.”

So that's what this was about? His will to live?

They didn't know him. Why did they even care?

She said gently, “Jigsaw, he helped me. And now we helped you, even if it didn't work for Scott.” She smiled. “Now it's your turn. The doctor needs you.”

She motioned towards the clock.

Thirty-seven minutes.

Lawrence.

“Oh yeah, I'm helping Lawrence alright. And then the two of us are gonna burn your entire operation right to the damn ground.”

“You can't leave.”

Why did people keep saying that? The people crowding around Lawrence had said it too.

He gets out, and then he leaves. What is the alternative?

“The hell does that mean?” Adam asked.

“The rules changed. You can thank your doctor friend for that one.”

He watched her start towards the door.

Yeah. He would thank Lawrence, and he would do it right before they marched out of there and flipped off every camera in sight. Rules be damned, that's exactly what would happen.

Adam closed the last of the gap between them. “Watch me.”

He would find a way.

No matter what.

“You'll know where to go next.” She hovered in the doorway and gave him one more glance. “I do hope that I see you again.”

Adam didn't bother to open his mouth. He watched the mysterious Rockstar walk into the hall, leaving him alone.

Alone with Scott.

He turned towards the pit one last time. “I'm sorry, Scott.”

He would know what to say. Scott would be able to say just the right thing to make Adam's pain go away. It wasn't too late for him to pop out, a huge, cruel prank that the two would laugh about someday.

Scott always knew how to make it better.

“I tried, man.”

But yet again, it wasn't enough.

The birthday parties, the nights when they talked about the world and everything that was wrong with it. The long rides home. They were all gone.

He could never, ever fix this one.

“I'm so sorry.”

Chapter Text

Gone. Scott was gone.

How…

Adam stumbled out of the room. He needed to leave. The room felt like death. It felt like his dead friend was still screaming his lungs out. The blood-curdling wails bounced off all the walls. The nails dug into Scott, and it all crushed—

He slammed the door.

Encasing his friend in there.

Adam thud his head against the wood. The barrier that would forever separate him from Scott.

He had side stepped.

He banged against the door. Put all his weight behind it like Scott had always taught him. His mother hated when he took it out like this, but Scott would know what to do.

The sounds echoed around him. He swore the wood would give way at any moment, his hands splintering through.

His knuckles bled.

Scott shouldn't have fallen in.

Adam should have taken the hit. The wind would have been knocked out of him, and they would have had to argue some more.

But they could have figured it out and Scott would still be here.

He wanted more than anything for Scott to grab his wrists and say something. Anything. He would flash one of his stupid Tibbs Grins and say something dumb that roughly translated to “everything will be fine.”

That's what he always did.

And it always worked.

But he couldn't say a fucking thing anymore.

Adam's face rested against the door. He screamed at it.

Screamed at the mistakes that he had made over and over and over again.

And he thought of everything he wanted to say to Scott. All the things he would never be able to tell him ever again. He slid down, resting his head.

He needed to talk to Scott.

One last time.

“Hey, Scott.”

He drew a blank. There was so much he wanted to say. Where could he possibly start?

But Scott was listening, Adam could feel it. And he needed to know.

“You know I uh, I wanted siblings. So bad. Every day, I would ask for them.”

Even if it got annoying, he would keep trying. Maybe one day, he would say the right thing.

They would have been worth it. Something to fight for.

“When I was little, just learning how to write, I decided to make a book for my parents. A little pamphlet thing to tell them why I especially wanted a brother.”

Because that way, he would have someone to talk to. Maybe he wouldn't be alone so often. He would have someone to hang out with, who just got him. Stuck with him through the good and the bad, no matter what happened.

“Folded up a few sheets of paper and stapled them together. I accidentally stapled my finger.” Adam’s lip twitched. “Pissed my dad off.”

He sighed. He needed to stop getting off topic.

“But yeah, I uh, I wrote about the brother stuff and gave it to my parents. I called the 'book' the Stanheight Clan.” He bit his lip. ”Shouldn't have given you so much shit about 'Wrath of the Gods.'”

It would have been so much fun to have little sleepovers with a sibling. They could have grown up, made it through everything life threw at them.

Together.

Could've been his rock.

“But they just couldn't support another kid, and… And I was so hurt, man. So pissed.”

That was the first night he decided to lie down on that green carpet in his family’s home, sinking into it. He had alternated between staring at the night sky through the window and the patterns on the ceiling.

He had pictured having someone next to him.

“But fast forward a bit and…”

New tears swelled into Adam's eyes, hot bits of acid streaming down his face. 

Somehow, he hadn't realized until it was too late.

“And then one day, my brother sat next to me in class.”

All he could do was hope that Scott somehow, someway knew this.

Even if Adam didn't.

“Then suddenly, I had someone to play vet with, and have sleepovers, and talk about how fucked up the world can be. You helped me, and…”

He had it all. Someone to help him grow and figure everything out. And he never thanked Scott. He had sulked his entire life. Meanwhile, his brother was just next door.

Until he lost him.

“And…”

He threw his back against the wall.

It still didn't feel real.

“Now my brother is in a pit.”

He was so bad at this.

But it was his last fucking chance.

“I'm sorry.”

For every single mistake he had made.

And everything that he had forgotten to say when Scott was still here.

“Thank you, man. For all of it.” He couldn't make his voice go above a whisper. “Even the bad. Rough patches and all, you did so much, and you were the only constant for so long…”

He should have said it earlier. Scott should have been told all of this a long, long time ago. Back when the world wasn't collapsing all around them.

Adam took him for granted.

A mistake that he would never even have the chance to make again.

“I miss you.”

And he would every day for the rest of his life.

But he needed to do whatever he could to make this right. If the roles were reversed and Adam was in that pit, Scott would raise all hell to get back at the fucks that put them there to begin with.

That is what Scott would want.

“I'm gonna take those bastards down, Scott. Every single one of them. I promise you.”

A final promise.

One that Adam could not let himself break.

He needed to go. No matter how much it hurt, he had to.

For Scott, for Lawrence, for himself.

For all of them.

Adam pushed himself off the ground, eyes trained on the spot where his friend would remain.

And he gave the door a playful little punch.

One last time.

“Bye, Scott.”

He stared at it a moment, tears swelling in his eyes.

Then he forced himself to face the empty hall they had just gone down.

At the end of it, he saw another sign that pointed back towards the stairwell. He made his way to it, wobbly legs barely holding him up.

The railing was cold. His grip on it was tight, and his sweaty palms squeaked as he descended. The floorboards creaked away.

But it was eerily silent.

Scott wasn't angrily banging down the steps behind him, muttering something incoherent.

That was all gone.

When Adam reached the bottom of the stairwell, he groaned at the new sign that pointed to his left.

And the new note that was taped up next to it.

Its writing was bigger and bolder than normal. Like Lawrence was there, saying it to him. Trying to make him feel better.

You're Not Alone.

And he remembered lying down on that damn bed. The one where his shoulder had burned and Lawrence had stood beside him time and time again.

“I needed him to know that he's not alone.”

Lawrence said it from another room. He had been yelling. Adam had faded in and out as the screaming continued, but the voices were getting louder.

“That's not your decision to make,” the angry voice responded.

From the other room, there were murmurs. The angry muttering was harsh. The words were indecipherable, and they were drowned out by Lawrence's grumbles. “If you would just listen to me—”

“No. No, your chance is long gone.”

Adam heard Lawrence groan. There was a loud crash and a yelp, the sounds accompanied by chuckling from the other man.

“Was that worth it?” the angry voice questioned.

There was a long pause. Whatever Lawrence had done — done for Adam’s sake — he had already been paying the price for it. Adam did everything he could to stop filling his head with what could have happened. He wondered why the doctor possibly would have risked it in the first place and—

“He is worth it.”

And Adam fell asleep again.

He grit his teeth and slammed his hand against the wall.

“Damn it!”

Why couldn't he remember? Why were these people so set on taking out everyone Adam cared for? Picking them off one by one?

Where the fuck did Lawrence go?

Adam looked up at the camera. “What the hell do you guys want from me?”

The blinking red light mocked him. The cameras around this house had watched his every move. The people behind it were probably laughing away at him, taking bets on what death trap would finally finish him off.

And he'd be damned if he gave them what they wanted.

He walked closer to the camera.

“You took me from my home. You took me from my family.” Adam shouted, “You fucking took my best friend away from me!”

He looked at the note.

Him and Lawrence.

It had started that way, what felt like years ago in that decrepit, disgusting bathroom. Just the two of them, fighting for their lives against some fucked up death clock while being watched by their captors.

“You are not gonna take Lawrence from me, too.”

He looked at the new sign that told him where to go. He felt like a dog, mindlessly following all the commands these pricks gave him.

These pricks always knew exactly what to do.

But what Lawrence had said back then, that was right.

“In order to overcome something, you have to first understand what a perfect engine it is.”

He needed to go. There was no choice if they wanted a chance of finally finishing this nightmare off.

So he followed it.

He entered a new hallway, and he narrowed his eyes.

He knew this place.

The clues and tests had led him in a circle.

There were two doors to the right of the hall. The furthest one was where it had all started. Where he had woken up in a coffin of nails without a damn clue where he was or what had happened to him.

Not much better off now.

He thought he was getting somewhere. After the weird “Puppet Master” thing and the stuff with the cigarettes, when Adam had managed to help both himself and Scott, for just a bit he felt like he had helped. He had saved Scott.

Of course that was ruined, too.

Adam looked to his right, at the door that wouldn't budge at the beginning of all of this. He pushed at it, aching muscles straining against the weight. It gave way, and he tripped inside.

The door slammed behind him.

Faint lighting allowed him to make out the room. And in the middle, the silhouette of a safe.

He felt around at the wall, trying to find a source of light.

Adam’s hand grazed a switch, and he flicked it up.

The blinding light was red, and it made his skin sizzle. It felt like he was boiling underneath its rays.

Felt like he was on fire.

He screamed and slammed the switch back down, collapsing to the ground.

So completely alone. Alone in a dark, miserable room with only himself and all of his mistakes to keep him company.

He rolled onto his back and looked up, tears pooling out of his eyes. With how empty this room was, Adam’s mind drifted to the life he left behind. Where he raised all kinds of havoc with Scott and drew himself further from the life he wanted.

Thought about who he was to the world before all of this.

But somehow, that prick was the person Lawrence had risked everything for. The doctor found worth in him.

Scott’s parents would never see their son again, Adam knew that much. His mother would never be the same, his father wouldn’t have his hunting buddy anymore.

But that’s not how Adam’s story needed to go.

This could not be it.

He needed to get up. Push himself up off the ground, get the hell out of here.

And finally go home. Find his parents and figure everything out. He would get a hold of Scott’s family. Make sure that they knew that he had fought to the very end.

Like he always did.

Adam turned and forced himself up, resting on all fours. His muscles screamed at him, protesting each movement.

But he screamed right back and stood.

The darkness in here reminded him of the bathroom. Where random whispers were the only things that kept him company.

But here, there was only one. A constant.

“You were never useless, man.”

He could hear Scott say it again. His friend knew he could get out of this mess. Even from the beginning, Adam could tell.

His brother, his rock.

A damn good guy, despite it all. Adam would make sure that that is what Scott would be remembered for.

Scott took care of him. And now, he needed to finish what he started. There was a way, and he would find it.

“I promise.”

Chapter Text

Adam made his way to the safe, eyeballing the tape on it. No wires or weird puppets connected to it, so he looked further.

Surely a timer was here somewhere.

He got on his knees, and from there he could make out a crack in the floorboard beneath the safe. He pushed against it.

Below it was a trapdoor.

There was no way...

But he pulled it up anyway, and he looked down at the dark basement beneath him. There was a note taped to the underside of the door.

Better Not Leave Without the Antidote

He groaned.

Yup, figured.

Adam turned his attention back towards the safe. Looking closer, he could make out the four pictures he and Scott had found a while ago, held in place by the tape recorder.

Zep, Lawrence's foot, the hacksaw, and the toilet.

All staring back at him, just like they had in that tiny room.

He clicked the tape on and leafed through the pictures.

"Hello, Adam."

He was so sick of that stupid phrase and everything surrounding it. Jigsaw's deep, tired voice would echo through his ears for the rest of his life, he was sure of it.

"If you are listening to this, then one of my colleagues has determined that you are ready for your final test. You are reborn. Congratulations!"

Adam rolled his eyes. "Thanks."

He stared at the picture of Lawrence's foot. It was like a bad car accident — he couldn't force himself to look away from the bone and the blood that stained every inch of that photo.

"I would like to give you a choice."

These things never gave choices, and the sick bastards needed to stop promising such luxury.

Did Adam and Lawrence choose to be taken from their homes? Did Scott choose to bleed to death in a nail pit?

Choices? Yeah, right.

All a bunch of lies.

"Doctor Gordon is down there, waiting for you. Surely you must miss him. You are free to go to him, the path leads right over. You can be done with your games."

From the lilt in the voice, Adam could tell it would not be that simple. No matter how badly he wanted to be done.

He couldn't let himself get excited. Didn't have the energy for it anymore anyway.

"You want to save his life. But what about your own?"

Scott and Lawrence. From the beginning, he knew he wanted to get them out. Do anything in his power to free them.

But himself?

Many times, he had pondered using the toilet lid to get out of there. If he smashed his foot, he could have made it out. His last exit ticket wasn't gone, and he knew it. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

But things had changed.

He needed to figure his life out. Lawrence had sworn it was never too late.

And after all, the doctor had always kept his word.

"You are free to leave. Get to him right now. His timer has ended."

Adam let out a long sigh of relief. The first soothing breath he had let out since who knew when. If Lawrence's timer had stopped, then he could focus on whatever puzzle he needed to finally get the hell out of this.

"But yours is still going. If you wish to live, I recommend you get that antidote in the safe. Without it, the gas you've been breathing in will continue to eat away at you."

He looked at the timer.

Twenty-seven minutes

The nausea was setting in again. His brain felt like it was melted, swashing around aimlessly inside his skull.

"On top of the safe are pictures that you are very familiar with. The combination is written right on them, in invisible ink."

He ran a hand across the picture. He could make out no markings or numbers in the faint light.

Invisible ink.

The lights...

"You are familiar with the lights, it's just like the darkroom in your 'shithole apartment.' Just turn the lights on and look. And you'll get the combination."

Photography had given him all the information he needed about these lights.

He would not be able to see a damn thing written in invisible ink without them.

"The ink will not be activated without those lights, Adam. It will burn, but you will be alive."

It burned. Every inch of him was on fire, cooking him from the inside out. His eyes were still letting out hot tears.

Whatever it takes...

"I would never order you to stay. But the sequence of events are all providing an important lesson."

Adam forced a chuckle. The most obvious, helpful clue in this entire house.

"Subtle."

"You can find the combination, or you can sit there and suffer in your inactivity. Your body can cook, or your brain can fry."

Sensing the end of the tape, he forced himself off the ground and made way to the switch. There was no use in delaying this one.

"Let's just get this shit over with."

"The choice is yours."

Nothing to do but this.

Adam switched the light on.

Everything around him was red. The burning, the sizzling, came back instantly. His eyes boiled, hot tears pouring out by the second.

He picked up the picture of the toilet. Holding it up in the air, he couldn't make out a thing. The rays from the bulb weren't close enough — he would have to hold them right up to the light.

That would be helpful, if he could see in the first place.

Boiling tears blurred his vision. He couldn't make out the toilet itself, let alone some number in invisible ink — a number probably written so small that he'd have to squint in direct sunlight.

He screamed and turned the switch down.

The tears scorched his cheeks, ripping through his parched skin. Adam blinked as fast as he could but they kept coming. "You've gotta do this, come on!"

Blink. He needed to blink as fast as he possibly could as long as those lights were on.

He wiped the tears away and flipped the switch back on.

The burning rays pelted him from all sides. His hand shook like crazy as he held the picture up to the light, the photo barely shielding his eyes.

Foul memories of fishing through this thing made him gag. He saw the contents that splashed on the outside of the toilet. He squinted as hard as he could, trying to make out whatever number could possibly be on it.

But he couldn't find a damn thing.

And his eyes were burning again. He needed to back off, he would never be able to see a number with how overflown his eyes were.

He flipped the switch back down.

Why couldn't he figure this out? Just needed to find a number and he could get out.

Blinking away the tears and rubbing at his eyes helped. He needed to remember to keep blinking.

"Just do it!"

He flipped the switch back up.

It felt like the skin on Adam's face and arms would melt off at any second. His hair was drenched in sweat, clinging to his forehead.

He looked away from the bowl of the toilet. There were no hidden numbers or clues that he could possibly make out of the contents of it. Adam needed to move on.

Move on to the tank.

Of course.

The number was right there, hidden between a crack on the wall and the top of the toilet.

7

He slammed the switch back down.

How many times would he make the same damn mistake?

"I have really gotta start checking there first!"

The number would slip his mind in a matter of seconds. He couldn't keep going back and forth with all of these. "Seven. S-seven. The number, don't forget the number is seven, this is very important, Adam."

All he could do was mutter it to himself over and over again, and close his eyes one more time. Forced as many tears out as he could.

Then he switched the light back on.

Adam's heart raced in his chest. His breathing picked up the pace with it, and his head was pounding.

But he picked up the picture of the hacksaw anyway, and he held it back up to the light. He blinked as fast as he could, darting his eyes around.

The blade was snapped, leaving little fragments on the ground. He looked around for hidden numbers on it, but couldn't find any.

Sweat poured into his eyes, stinging them.

No numbers on the tiles, or the fragments, or the blade. He directed his attention to the hacksaw's hilt.

And his eyes widened.

46

He flipped the switch back down.

"Forty-six. Forty-six. This is even harder now with two digits. Okay, forty-six and..."

And he had no fucking idea.

Adam's tears soaked the picture of the toilet as he picked it up. He cried out, searching pitifully for a number that he knew he could not see without turning the switch back on.

He had no clue. He needed to do that one again.

"Fuck!"

He threw the picture down at the ground. Adam smacked one of the lights near him, screaming as the heat grazed his hand.

Stupid.

Blood seeped from his nose.

A pen. He needed a pen, or something to write with. Before he forgot forty-six too, he needed to find some way to keep track of all of this. Or he would keep roasting himself alive until the timer reached zero.

Adam raced around the room, and he could feel blood trinkle to his lips. He tried to focus his attention on finding something, but the tickling on his face was driving him fucking crazy.

He rubbed at his face, wincing at the growing collection of blood on his hands. Disgusting, wet...

Wait a minute.

He nearly tripped over himself, he went to the pictures so fast. He picked up the photo of the hacksaw, rolling the blood together.

And he wrote forty-six on the picture of the hacksaw.

Made for perfect ink. He laughed.

Lawrence would be proud of that one.

Adam put the picture aside and directed his attention back to the one of the toilet.

He gripped the thing as hard as he could as he shot the switch back up.

The lights turned back on, burning through to the bone. His skin felt raw.

Adam's eyes immediately darted to the tank. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Time and time again, these lessons had gone right over his head.

But not this time.

7

He clumsily wrote it on the picture before dropping it back down. Adam needed to keep going. Stop restarting with each number.

The picture of Zep was next. He held it up to the light, eyes darting around every inch of it.

The skull fragments were even more noticeable than last time, somehow. The man's brain was in pieces, littering the bloody floor around him. It reminded him of the squish under Adam's hand as he mercilessly beat the life out of—

"Damn it, Adam. Focus!"

No use in agonizing over it now. He closed his eyes, squeezing them as tight as he could. The more tears he could get rid of, the better.

He swore they were evaporating off of his cheeks.

"You can do this."

He opened his eyes back up, and he fixed the picture's position under the light.

The number wasn't sketched into Zep's blood. He had looked through every bit of that. It wasn't written in white and hidden in bones or the tiles. There were no black numbers that blended in with his hair.

But his eyes...

83

Adam flipped the switch back down. And he collapsed with it.

He caught himself on the wall and managed to sit up against it. After collecting more blood from underneath his nose, he wrote eighty-three on the picture.

"Just one more," Adam murmured.

One more. That was it, and he could get himself and Lawrence the hell outta here. This place would burn down faster than Adam ever could.

He picked up Lawrence's picture.

Last time.

He pushed himself off the floor, wincing as the wall brushed against the skin of his scorched arm. Blisters were already forming.

But he flipped the switch up anyway.

His fleshed hissed and the tears pooled. The picture almost slipped out of his grasp from all the sweat.

Adam fixed his hold on it and held it up to the light, squinting.

All he could see was the massive pool of blood. It poured out of the foot and splattered all over the place. He followed the blood, trying to make out anything that would help him out.

He spotted the bone that stuck out from the foot. Between the blood, and the pain, and everything else the doctor must have been feeling, the fact that he went out of his way to not kill—

Adam forgot to blink.

He forgot to blink, and he could not make out a single bit of the picture anymore.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

He threw the switch back down.

So many stupid mistakes.

It was even more blinding that time. For a moment, he hadn't been in the burning room.

Stupid, stupid mistake.

The tears poured out even faster. His eyes boiled.

His skin felt like it was burned to a crisp.

"You need to fucking see in order to do this one, idiot!"

He wouldn't turn it off this time. There was no way he would let himself stop it again. Every time he turned those lights off, it just meant he would have to turn them back on.

And honestly, he wasn't sure how many more rounds he had in him.

He closed his eyes as tightly as he could, gripping the picture. It bent under his grasp.

Don't think.

He needed to just do it.

He hovered over the switch. One more time.

Do it, do it, do it, do it, do—

In one swift motion, he turned the lights back on with one hand, and raised the picture up with the other. He refused to spend any more time here than he needed to.

This would be the last time. He knew it.

He looked past the blood and the bone. There was clearly nothing there.

"Focus."

Adam looked at Lawrence's hacksaw, and the tiles, and the walls — reminding himself to blink this time — and...

The chain.

In between the links of the chain, in the shadows, he could make out the hidden number. It jumped out at him as soon as he looked in its direction.

He smiled.

61

He cut the lights off and wrote the number down.

One last fucking time.

With the picture in his hand, he slid back down the wall. He pressed his hands against his eyes, hearing the squish when he rubbed them too hard. He sat there, letting the tears leave so he could make out what he had written.

He was almost done. Almost there.

Come on.

He opened his eyes and lined the four pictures up.

"Now, what did that psycho say again?" Adam murmured.

Some dumb shit about not being ordered to stay. He couldn't be... ordered... and there was something else. The puppet had stressed every syllable of some other stupid phrase.

Sequence of events.

Order... Sequence of events...

He bit his lip and darted his eyes around the pictures.

"Okay... 'order'. What does that mean? Order, how do you find the damn 'order,' Adam?"

The numbers needed to be put in in a specific order. So he needed to find the order. Maybe he didn't have the order?

"Sequence of events. Follow the sequence... of events, and..." Adam's eyes widened. "And that... gives me the order?"

The sequence of events would give him the order of the numbers.

Adam nodded swiftly, forcing himself to push aside the pounding in his head that resulted.

He looked at the pictures and the events they represented. Lawrence cutting off his foot, Adam breaking his hacksaw, digging through the toilet, and Zep's death.

First was the toilet. It was one of the first places he and Lawrence had checked. He put that picture in the front.

7

The hacksaw was next. He had found it in the toilet. He should have kept the thing and slowly worked away at the pipes. All the mistakes he wanted to undo...

He put it next in line.

7-46

Adam sighed. For once, he was glad that without the red lights, the room was so dim.

Lawrence was next. The image of him sawing through his foot, getting paler and paler by the second, would never leave Adam's head. The "calm doctor guy" had vanished, and that picture was the chilling reminder.

He slammed it down in its place.

7-46-61

Finally, Zep's...

Zep was next. He didn't need to relive the memory of murdering a man to know what picture was last. He wouldn't forget that sight either, or the feeling of someone turning to mush underneath him.

7-46-61-83

Adam rested his back against the wall and stared at it, replaying the order over and over again. There was no way he...

7-46-61-83

He did it.

He looked up at the camera and smiled. "I did it! You hear me? I did it!"

The world spun around him as he jumped up and raced to the safe. He went too fast and nearly toppled over the thing.

Each number was barely visible in the low lighting. But he refused to turn the lights back on. He got as close to them as he could, squinting at the dial.

He turned the knob.

He was moving too fast, and couldn't stop shaking. The dial whizzed past the second number, and he cursed under his breath when he messed up. He turned it all the way around a few times to restart the input — only thing the shaking was any help for.

Scott sucked at these. In school, he would have Adam follow him to his locker to help him. They often tracked Adam's times, seeing if he could beat his own record.

Adam knew how to do this.

He took in a deep, shaky breath. "Calm down."

He could do this. Had to, and it would all be over.

With a steady hand, he put the numbers into the dial.

7-46-61-83

There was a click.

And the safe gave way, allowing Adam to open it.

Inside of the safe, there was a vial with yellow liquid.

He picked it up. The needle was huge and the container wasn't full, but it was liquid gold to him all the same. Exactly what he needed.

A second chance.

He couldn't hold back the laughter as he waved it around in the air and stared the camera down. "I've got you, you hear me? I've got you!"

He plunged the needle into his arm, savoring the prick.

He did it. He won.

Lawrence.

Adam went through the exit, not bothering to give the room one last glance.

And he slammed the trapdoor behind him, permanently sealing himself away from that cruel, miserable house.

Chapter Text

The pipes whispered to Adam, just like they always did.

This basement — or whatever he was in — was just a huge trail of pipes. Rusty, old, dreary pipes that looked more and more like the ones back in the bathroom.

And if he was quiet enough, he swore they had the same voices as the last ones, too.

He had to sit down, even for just a few moments. The world around him needed to stop spinning if he wanted a chance to help Lawrence, or himself, or anyone else.

Adam was cemented in place. All the pipes just made him think about Lawrence and Zep.

And the blood that covered that disgusting bathroom, threatening to drown him if one more drop was spilled.

When the camera turned back on in that tile prison, it was just a tiny dot that danced around along the wall. But as time went on, it whispered to him. Told him all the time how horribly everything went. That he was the cause of it all.

He had made a routine there. It was the only way to help him deal with the voices that still chased him around in darkness and near these damn pipes.

To keep some semblance of sanity, he had started off with playing with his chain or using the debris around him like little action figures. Sometimes he would pretend Scott was there with him, playing with their army men.

But as time went by, the voices started to drive him mad. He needed someone to actually talk to. More than his imaginary friends and Scott, who he always knew wasn't really there.

He talked to Zep. He talked to him a lot.

When the debris picked on him or the light said something obnoxious, Zep was always there to make him feel better.

Usually, he would apologize to Zep, but sometimes, he would cuss him out instead. It would depend on his mood at the time. But during the good times, he would spill all of his secrets to his new friend, and Zep would silently listen and nod along.

He told his friend about his life back home. About how he disappointed his mother more and more with every passing day. He explained how trivial all the vet school obstacles were and how badly he wanted to get out and finally show his mother that she wasn't wrong. That he could live a life that would make them all proud.

Like he always promised her.

He explained to Zep how much he regretted not returning her call. When Lawrence found a phone in that bathroom, Adam immediately ran her number through his head and prepared an apology.

Zep understood. He always understood.

Then he would go on to talk about Scott. About how on the third Saturday of every month, they would have performances at the same crappy bar. One that Adam and Scott loved sneaking into, brandishing their fake IDs during high school. The food was awful and they usually got the drink orders wrong, but there was something about it that couldn't be replicated elsewhere. And besides, the atmosphere, the people, made him feel welcome.

He told Zep that Scott and the other performers got discounts for every show, and explained the bullshit behind Adam not getting in on it. Nothing for organizing and planning everything.

Not that Scott ever tried to change that.

And no matter how hard Adam tried, Scott never let him have a second shot with the drums.

“I tried, Zep. Yanno?”

He would thank Zep for the silent agreement, and his mind would always drift back over to the endless abyss where Lawrence's foot remained. He would think about the promise he made and the fleeting possibility that it could ever be true.

He’d ask Zep, "Is it possible that I misunderstood?”

Zep would sigh at him like he always did, and Adam would scoot closer. “No, you don't understand. Maybe he said he would try, and something in my mind made me think he promised?”

But Zep's silent response stayed the same.

Lawrence had promised.

So where the fuck was he?

Adam would stand up, eyes trained towards the foot. He would scowl at it. Walk away from the pipe, then whip his head around dramatically when he lost slack in his chain.

He needed Larry to know that he wasn't scared.

“Where are you? Huh? Where did you go?”

But the foot wouldn't say a damn thing.

There was no way he could let the silence go on. He needed Larry to understand that he couldn't push him around anymore. He had made a promise, and that promise stung more and more as the clock drowned everything out.

He would reach down and grab some debris off the ground, hopeful that Scott wouldn't be pissed at him for messing with their army dudes. They would hit Larry, just like they had back when he was whole.

The problem was that he was running out of things to throw. He did this every time Larry gave him that look.

It made him nervous.

“Where are you and the calvary? Where is the grand chariot that will whisk me away from this? Where is the escort that will take me home and heal my gunshot wound, you bastard?” Adam would scream louder as tears flooded his eyes. “Where are you?”

Zep would try to pipe up, but Adam would shut him back down. He was serious, and Larry needed to understand Adam’s frustrations if they ever had a chance of working their problems out.

It was a lesson. Just like Scott had always taught him.

“You did this. You!” Adam would point back at Larry. “A doctor. A damn doctor. 'Do no harm,’ huh? You took an oath, you fucking hypocrite!”

He would stomp his feet and whip his head extra dramatically.

That would show him.

“You shot me! Then you left me to die! What the hell, Lawrence?” He would point to Zep. “I bashed his head in. And I did it for you!”

And the reality of it all would hit him again, right on schedule.

“Dammit, Larry, I killed someone for you, and you left me to die.”

Because no matter what he did, it was never ever enough.

“Where are you?”

On cue, he would collapse to the ground, the energy zapped from his body. He would wrench himself up against the pipe, everything growing numb again.

And he would remember the inevitable. Every single time. The angry bouts were getting shorter and shorter, and he was more exhausted with every passing moment. He would turn to nothing. Blend in with everything surrounding him.

He would relive this routine before tilting his head and falling asleep.

That was the last time he saw the bathroom.

But now here he was, in a room full of pipes that mimicked the old place to an excruciating degree.

Not in that bathroom, because Lawrence had kept his word.

Adam needed to find him.

He forced himself off the ground, muscles screaming.

But his head didn't spin anymore. The blood didn't rush through his temples and seep through his nose or mouth.

With the brain fog gone, he was able to walk down the linear path more steadily. The pipes showed him the way.

He thought about what he would say to Lawrence. How do you apologize for saying all of that to the person who was actively saving you?

“You're-You're not a bastard. I shouldn't have called you…”

That was stupid.

‘You're not a bastard?’ Really?

If he went through all this trouble to see Lawrence and he said that, Jigsaw could hook him back up to his chain right then.

“I didn't mean to, I didn't know that you were trying…”

How could he face Lawrence if he was clamming up before even seeing the doctor?

“I'm sorry that of all people, you were stuck with some apathetic, pathetic nut job who refuses to learn…”

That was the best he could do. His fried brain couldn't muster up a better script for this “apology.” No matter how many times he rehearsed it, nothing seemed right.

All he could do was hope that if Lawrence knew what happened, he would forgive him. Just like he had done over and over again when Adam lost his cool.

He spotted a trail of blood further out in the hall, and he snapped back to reality.

Adam approached it, wide eyes looking down. The person who left this blood wasn't walking. There were no footprints.

They weren't crawling, either. The trail swayed back and forth, leaving behind splatters. It was one thick line that clumsily swayed along the floor.

As if that person had lost their foot.

“Lawrence!”

Adam didn't stop and think. He didn't have the time. He sprinted down the hall as fast as his body would let him. A turn up ahead slammed him against the wall when he didn't slow down enough.

He almost tripped over his feet more times than he could count.

But he pushed forward anyway, ignoring the pounding in his chest.

Because Lawrence needed to be okay. The doctor needed to get back to his life and his family, and he needed to know that Adam didn't mean a single bit of what he said.

He ran until the trail reached an abrupt end.

Blood pooled out even heavier here, near a hot pipe that was stained red.

This must have been where Lawrence was taken.

But without the trail, how could Adam possibly find out where his friend went?

He looked around, the world spinning. He wasn't too late, he couldn't be. This was all another part of this sick game.

There was another note resting on a nearby pipe. He reached down and swiped it off the ground.

I Screwed You Over

Something similar had been said to Lawrence. Adam was still bound to the cold hard bed, his body refusing to cooperate with any movements he tried to make.

“You screwed him over.”

Lawrence hadn't gotten a word in for a bit. He had just finished trying to justify whatever it was that pissed the other person off so much.

The angry voice again, drowning out any attempts Lawrence made. “You brought him into this, the moment you spoke to him. When you came here despite direct orders to leave him alone as the anesthesia wears off. If he just heard you, then congratulations. He knows you're alive. And he'll start looking for you. That kid is observant, he'll find out about you, and that'll lead the cops right to us.”

“He wouldn’t—”

“Bullshit.”

Adam wanted to punch the man. Wanted to slap the crap outta him so bad. He wished with everything he was that he could throw himself off this damn bed and beat the shit out of him.

But he couldn't fucking move.

So, he continued to lie still as Lawrence spoke up. “That was never part of the—”

“And neither was compromising all of us and putting us in this position. He gets a choice — and he has to pass in order to earn it — to live or die. He cannot leave. But he can stay, if he chooses.”

“Who says that?”

“Me.”

Adam heard Lawrence scoff.

“John would never—”

“Stop. He is preoccupied with a cancer trial he found in Mexico. Y'know, for the disease that you failed to help him with. So you're stuck with me.”

Adam heard Lawrence mutter something indecipherable before the person continued.

“You have been with us for three days, and in that time you sewed up this wounded puppy who lost his game—”

“Adam didn't los—”

“You patched him up and then you gave away your identity, putting us all at risk. You fucked up, Lawrence, not me. And now he is gonna have to answer for that.”

“If he passes his test, he deserves to—”

“You failed your test, too. Don't forget that.” Lawrence tried to pipe up but the person shot him down. “Do not make me put you in a second one. As far as I'm concerned, you already lost your second chance. It’s been gone since the minute you went behind all of our backs. And your test would show that. It would just be about finishing what we started.”

There was a long moment of silence until he continued.

“It sure would be a shame if Alison became a widow, and Diana had to grow up without her 'daddy.'”

“You keep their names out of your mouth.”

“Test him, or I will. Give him this choice, or I will. It's happening no matter what. It is up to you if he gets the good guy, or the bad one.”

Adam squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists as much as he could — not much, considering how many drugs were clouding his mind at the time. The voice spoke again before leaving Lawrence in the room alone.

“Make his choice.”

And he was back with the pipes, the note, and the blood again.

Lawrence had talked to him? He was there, alone with Adam long enough to say something?

“What did you try to tell me, Lawrence?”

Something was so important that the doctor had put himself in danger. And Adam didn't have a damn clue what any of it meant.

That person had threatened Lawrence's family. Adam swore that he would bring all hell if anything happened to them.

He needed to keep going. Every step brought him closer to Lawrence.

One foot in front of the other, Adam advanced further down the path.

After a while, he turned one last corner.

Then he saw it.

The brown, hideous sliding door stared back at him.

Whispering.

Just like it did before.

It still held all the screams, and the terror, and the lies that he had tried so hard to get away from. Just seeing it, he could hear his own cries as Lawrence cut off his foot. As Adam killed Zep.

As the “dead guy” rose from the floor, sealing Adam into what was supposed to be his tomb.

In a matter of minutes, two people had gone through that door for him to waste away.

Now here it was, just feet away from him.

With wobbly knees that felt like they would give out at any moment, he closed the gap between himself and the door.

And he slid it open.

The light from the hall brought in the same green hue, illuminating the features of this disgusting room.

The camera was off, its red spot no longer dancing around the wall.

But it had everything else, and it all replayed in his mind as he stood right where Jigsaw slammed the door on him and Lawrence shuffled away.

Adam reached over and turned the switch on. The fluorescent lights shone bright in his face, blinding him like they did the first time.

He could see it all.

The tub, Zep, the hacksaws, the blood, and…

Adam's heart skipped a beat.

“Lawrence!”

Chapter Text

Just wait for Lawrence.

That's what he needed to do, ever since he crawled out of this bathroom.

Adam had grown to not just trust the doctor, but to care for him — admire him, even. The man had such similar hopes and aspirations as Adam, and he had succeeded in them. With how resilient that man was, if anyone could help Adam, it was him.

But the doctor sat there, bound to a chair in the middle of the room. The same spot where Jigsaw had cosplayed as a bloodied corpse. Lawrence looked cleaned up, with fresh, dark clothes and washed hair. He had a boot where his foot used to be, and he wasn't as pale anymore.

None of that hid how exhausted he looked, though.

There was a chair across from where the doctor sat. A tube extended out from his right arm. The clear tube reached out towards a machine in between the two chairs. And the machine had a small lever that pointed up, but looked like it could be aimed at either chair.

Lawrence's brows furrowed, and his red-tinged eyes met Adam's stare.

"Adam?"

Adam didn't realize he had been standing there in place, mouth wide open with the biggest lump in his throat.

Despite everything he had planned to say to the doctor, he drew a blank. Too much ran through his mind, and all he could croak out was a simple, "Lawrence?"

Something about Lawrence's face... There was no anger in it, which was something Adam had grown so used to. Even in the good moments, at least a slight hint of annoyance had been there, and Adam learned to be comforted by it.

Now, the doctor just looked sad.

Adam forced himself forward, struggling. As if he were trudging through cement.

"Lawrence?"

"Are you okay?" Lawrence asked.

The hell did that mean, was Adam okay? He wasn't the one strapped to some rickety old chair with a tube shoved up his arm.

None of this was okay. It had been so, so long since anything had been okay.

Lawrence broke the silence. "You need to leave. Now."

The doctor was shaking. Looked like he was pleading with him to go. Adam had seen a similar look in his eyes when Alison and Diana were screaming on the phone.

Something about it broke Adam out of his trance.

"No, not gonna happen," Adam responded. "I'm getting you outta here."

"You don't get it. You need to go."

"I'm not—"

"Get out of here before he finds you! Go!"

Adam couldn't get over the pure desperation on Lawrence's face. It felt like his eyes were drilling holes right through Adam.

But he needed to understand. "Who?"

Lawrence silently looked at the doorway, as if he saw someone who could help. But the ominous corridor was just as void of hope as it always was.

The doctor's eyes stayed trained on it, like he was in a trance.

Adam turned around, looking at the empty chair that faced the doctor. It had a note.

Strap in and Let the Game Begin

"Adam, you need to leave. Listen to me. Don't let them take you too."

The life Adam knew was gone. His parents were far, far away from here, terrified beyond belief. Scott was gone.

Adam needed to play by the rules.

"I'm not gonna lose you, too," he whispered.

And with that, he walked over to the chair, feet still protesting every step. He stared at the chair, eyes wide and heart pounding out of his chest. He sat down on it.

They were almost done, they had to be.

Adam strapped his left arm in first, shaky hands fumbling with the straps. He moved on to his legs, working against his jeans that at this point were ripped to shreds.

But his right arm was still free. "What now?"

As if on cue, he heard footsteps behind him, coming from the doorway that Lawrence's eyes hadn't left.

He heard a click.

"Hello, Adam. I'd like to play a game."

The footsteps advanced, and Adam looked back.

A figure was walking towards him. With the same pig mask and messy black hair. The same red robe that he had seen in his apartment.

"In front of you is a man you know very well. Doctor Gordon has been your most trusted ally in this from the very beginning."

If Adam were to guess, he didn't think it was Amanda behind the mask this time. The person seemed to be a man, with broad shoulders and tall stature.

Big muscles. Ones that Adam could never maneuver away from, even if he wasn't strapped in.

"When you were locked away, never to be heard from again, you confessed your deepest secrets to the one part of him he left behind."

Their boots thumped against the floor, echoing throughout the room.

And they stood next to Adam, facing him. Straightening up, they towered over him and stared him down.

They gripped his right hand, forcing it down with one hand and messing with the straps with the other.

"But what if I told you that he kept secrets from you, too?"

He knew he shouldn't do it, he should have calmed down and took it. But Adam couldn't stop himself from struggling against the restraints as the figure tightened them.

"Just calm down, Adam," Lawrence murmured.

"What do you mean calm down?" He looked back at the figure. "Will you back up and let me breathe?"

They put a finger up to the mask's lips.

"Today is the day for confessions, from both of you."

When Adam looked to his side, the figure wasn't there anymore. They were instead grabbing something from the top of the machine. They showed it to Adam.

A needle.

Adam struggled against his restraints. He wormed around in his chair, slouching to try and find a weakness.

One that he couldn't find.

He cried out when the figure got closer to him.

"Adam," Lawrence whispered.

He stopped struggling and looked at the doctor. The man had bags under his eyes and his lips were trembling. Looked like he hadn't slept in days. And the pain in his eyes only exaggerated that. "I'm sorry."

"My associate is hooking you up to the machine in front of you. Not to worry, he is a doctor too."

The figure straightened Adam's right arm and tapped around at veins. When they seemed satisfied with a spot, they cleaned the area of his arm with a swab.

Adam grimaced. "Oh yes, please make sure to clean my arm before jamming stuff into me. So thoughtful."

He heard the figure sigh as they inserted the needle into his arm.

"Lawrence could have bled out from his amputation, and you from the gunshot. Now, we will see if you can keep this from ending in bloodshed for a second time."

Just like the tube in Lawrence's arm, Adam's connected to the machine.

The doctor was staring at Adam now, eyes darting around his face. As if he was trying to read him.

Adam forced himself to keep quiet, listen to the tape so they could get out. His outbursts did nothing when they were in this fucking place the first time around.

Lawrence whispered, "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"In ninety seconds, the blood will be sucked out of your bodies. To avoid this, you must confess the one thing that is keeping you both from redemption."

Confess?

The word seemed strange to Adam. He was a glorified stalker, getting paid to take pictures of people who just wanted to be left the hell alone. Cheaters and criminals confess to things that they did. He was just some guy.

What could he confess?

"Wh-What do you want me to say to that one?" Adam asked the figure.

"You will know what it is, Adam."

He couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Oh of course. Yeah, thanks a lot."

The figure cocked their head.

"Every time you try to confess the wrong thing, blood will be drained from the opposite individual. So you had better think hard."

Lawrence clumsily shifted around in his restraints, and Adam stared back at him. They had both lost blood, but the doctor had lost a limb. He couldn't lose anything else.

"It'll be okay, Lawrence. We'll get out of this."

"You shouldn't be here."

The figure walked over to the machine and put their hand on the lever.

"Will you spill your secrets, or will you spill blood?"

Adam kept trying to look Lawrence in the eyes, but he broke any attempt. He had never seen the doctor so meek.

"Lawrence," Adam whispered. He looked up, and Adam smiled. "Whatever it is, I forgive you. We can work this out."

The doctor chuckled. "Yeah, well... I hope you're right about that one."

"Adam, Lawrence, the choice is yours."

The click echoed.

90, 89, 88...

"I'll go first," Lawrence told him.

Adam braced himself. The doctor saved him. Kept every promise he had ever made and single-handedly gotten him out of this bathroom that he stumbled back into. This all had to be some misunderstanding, another one of Jigsaw's cruel tricks.

"When we first met," Lawrence drifted off. He chuckled. "I'll be honest, you kinda irritated me—"

82...

The figure moved the lever towards Adam's side.

Blood shot out from the tube, into the machine. It was being sucked out, way faster and stronger than when he got his blood drawn at the actual doctor's office. He heard the machine whir, almost like a suction cup.

He wormed against his restraints, crying out at the red in the tube.

Lawrence moved around in his chair. "Don't! You might pop a vein!"

"What is going on?"

77...

The machine turned off when the figure switched it back to the middle.

Lawrence looked up. "I wasn't done!"

They shrugged.

"Just tell me," Adam said between pants for air.

The doctor's expression softened the moment he looked back at Adam. It was as if even from where they were, he was still trying to help him as much as he could.

In the confines of this bathroom, Lawrence had been the only source of hope. And somehow, even now it calmed Adam down.

Adam whispered, "It's okay."

"The notes—"

68...

He heard the machine rev back to life, and looked up to see the figure with the lever pointed back to Adam.

His ears rang, drowning out the sounds of Lawrence's cries. Adam bounced around against his restraints, eyeing the blood that drained into the machine.

63...

The figure switched it back.

As Adam panted and tried to will his racing heart to slow down, Lawrence turned to the figure. "For fuck's sake, will you let me speak?"

They didn't answer.

"Lawrence," Adam muttered. "Please."

Lawrence let out a few shaky breaths when the figure nodded. "I did something really, really stupid. I-I was supposed to be silent and patch you up. Get you ready for your next game, and never let you know it was me. That was my test, after Jigsaw found me." He sighed. "But I lost that game, even if you don't remember it."

51...

The men stared at each other, both waiting for the other to break the silence.

Lawrence did first. "You're still here because of me, Adam. You should have been done after the safe." The doctor flinched when the figure twitched the lever towards Adam. "I shouldn't have said that part. Just know that what I need to confess, is that I am the reason you're still here. Those weren't lies. And I'm sorry."

The figure didn't move. They seemed satisfied with Lawrence's response.

But Adam still didn't understand. Why would it matter if he knew Lawrence was there? Did he say something that Adam couldn't remember? Something that pissed Jigsaw off too much?

38...

Lawrence half-smiled. "Your turn."

Blood rushed to Adam's cheeks, and they got hot. He immediately thought about all the insults and cruel remarks he had thrown around in here, all aimed at Lawrence. Every word ripped through him more and more, eating away at him. That was the problem and Adam knew it. All he needed to do was say what he had rehearsed, as awkward and creepy as it was.

"I... I talked to your foot..."

32...

The lever switched towards Lawrence this time.

The doctor screamed and struggled against it. Adam winced at the sound.

What was wrong with that? He did. And it was certainly something he dreaded having to confess.

"Turn it off!" Adam yelled at the figure.

27...

Lawrence sank back into his seat, and looked over at the person. He sighed and looked at Adam. "I already knew that."

Adam looked around, desperately trying to find out what the figure wanted him to say. He couldn't hold back now, he needed to say every little thing that he could think of.

He didn't have time to try and piece it all together now. He couldn't lose Lawrence too.

"I was just some apathetic and pathetic low life who made a living off following equally shitty people around. And I was miserable every second of every day. Then I saw you in here, and knowing you live a life so much like the one I wanted, I was beyond pissed at you."

But it wasn't like that anymore, even if he was too scared to say it. There was no time to tell him how he grew to care. He needed to push all those aside, ramble off as much as he could possibly think of.

Don't even give the person a chance to pull the lever again.

16...

"Then we talked and none of that shit mattered anymore. Along the way, you gave me my hope back, Larry! Something I hadn't had in a long, long time. After being so done with the world, and my dad, and everyone who tried to tear me down, I needed you."

The doctor was looking forward, getting more and more pale by the second.

Adam's heart raced in his chest as he wracked his brain for more words to spew out.

7...

"And I'm sorry! I'm sorry for acting like I did here. I wanna go to vet school and figure all of this out. Try to fix my life after all, and that's because of you."

0...

He squeezed his eyes as tight as he could go when the timer hit zero.

All he could do was wait and see if he said the right thing. If somehow he had regurgitated whatever it was that the figure wanted him to say.

Every bit of it was true, and it made the tears pool out of his eyes as he thought about the possibility of that switch going back to Lawrence. Of that not being enough.

"Please be enough," Adam whispered.

He heard movement, the sound of straps and grunting. Adam opened his eyes.

The figure had undone Lawrence's straps, and they handed him a cane. The doctor stood, eyes red as he hobbled towards Adam.

Adam's heart leapt in his chest. They were close, it was finally time to get the fuck out of here and never look back. He smiled at Lawrence.

"Lawrence! Lawrence, we won! We beat these sick fucks at their own game!"

He'd have hugged the doctor if it weren't for the restraints.

Adam wanted to ask Lawrence why he left him, where he went. But it didn't matter now. Not a single bit of any of that mattered.

But why wasn't Lawrence undoing the damn restraints?

"Come-come on, let me out so we can leave."

Lawrence looked over at the figure. The doctor sighed at him. A cold, sad sigh that cut into Adam.

And the doctor still wouldn't let him out.

The masked person said, "So, are we doing this now or do you have to stare at him first?"

Do what now?

"What are you... we won, man! We did it."

Adam did everything he could to pull against the chair. Rocked back and forth, yanked his arms away to try and find a weak spot, anything. But they wouldn't budge, and tears filled Adam's eyes as he looked back at the doctor.

Whose grim face was just as defeated as last time.

It felt like ages since Adam felt this helpless. When the dead guy rose up in the middle of the room and sealed him into what could have been his tomb.

Of all the people in the bathroom – in this sick fucking bathroom – Lawrence was the one who somehow managed to keep his cool until the very end.

And now guilt was written all over his face.

He had a needle in his hand.

"H-How..."

That was all Adam could muster as he stared at the doctor.

The figure raised the tube that had been on Lawrence. It had no needle connected to it, only tape and what looked like blood packets. They chuckled. "Fake blood. You're even more gullible than I thought."

Lawrence sighed. "Don't taunt him. This is hard enough."

The doctor twitched, moving tears down his face.

Somewhere along the line, despite Adam's best efforts, he had lost Lawrence too.

Adam let out a sob, all he could do as the doctor filled the gap between them. He was almost as close as he was when the doctor had promised to get him out of here. To bring someone back, end this once and for all.

"Lawrence!" Adam screamed.

”I’m sorry.”

Lies.

There were so many in these walls. It was overwhelming.

The one person he could truly trust...

"Lawrence..."

Chapter Text

Of all people, Adam never thought Lawrence...

He thrashed around in his chair, crying out against his restraints. Not that his efforts did anything. The masked man pinned him down, putting pressure on his shoulder and making him yelp.

"Lawrence, please!"

The doctor was still, looking over at Adam.

None of this made any sense. This wasn't Lawrence. The doctor was supposed to be his last hope, his final ticket out of here. He was supposed to be the one trustworthy person in this wicked place.

Of all people, how could he—

Adam heard footsteps behind him.

Booming footsteps.

The figure was holding him too tight, he couldn't look back.

Lawrence recoiled. "Mark, is there anything we can—"

The voice — Mark, apparently — chuckled. "You are so bad at this whole... 'anonymity' thing." He reached over and grabbed Adam. "And so good at screwing this kid over."

He recognized Mark's voice. That prick was the guy who had threatened Lawrence and harassed him at Adam's bedside, he could tell that much. There was a very, very small list of things he wouldn't do to get his hands on Mark right there.

But once again, he could not fucking move.

Adam cried out, "Lawrence!"

But it was too late.

Mark tightened his grip on Adam, forcing him down even harder than before. The masked man took the tube out of Adam's arm, and then helped Mark.

Between the two men holding him tight — two men who took no care in avoiding Adam's injuries — and the belts, he could barely breathe, let alone move. He was just as constricted as he was on that bed, body unable to cooperate in the slightest.

Adam stared up at Lawrence. Tears were streaming down both of their faces.

"Don't make me do this," the doctor whispered.

Adam tried to call out for him, but Mark put his hand over his mouth.

"Let's go, doctor," Mark sneered. "Or did you forget our terms?"

Powerless, Adam could only whimper. This was all wrong.

Lawrence stepped forward, holding the needle out. Adam screamed against Mark's hand, the sound muffled and pitiful.

But it made the doctor recoil.

"Do it," Mark whispered.

"Why can't you do it?" Lawrence questioned.

Adam couldn't tell if that pissed Mark off or if he thought it was funny. He let out a snarky grunt and put his hand on Adam's shoulder. "You're the expert, doc."

"Get the hell off of me!" Adam looked at the doctor. "Lawrence! Lawrence, please!"

Lawrence ran his fingers through his hair. "There's gotta be a way."

The hairs on the back of Adam's neck stood up as Mark leaned towards him and rested his chin on his shoulder. 

Mark told him, "It's the rules." He chuckled. "It's not too late for me to give Alison and Diana a visit. I can probably check in on Adam's parents while I'm at it."

Lawrence huffed and fixed his grip on the syringe.

The whole thing was barely visible through Adam's tears. "Lawrence."

Then Lawrence jammed the syringe in Adam's arm and they all let him go.

Adam was dizzy, the world spinning around him faster than it ever had in the house. His eyes rolled back.

Lawrence was supposed to be the one. The person Adam could trust through it all. They were supposed to leave here together and burn down every square inch of this place. Lawrence was supposed to go back home and sort things out, and be in Adam's corner as he figured out his own life.

But somewhere along the line, that was lost, too.

Adam tried to fight the heaviness settling over him, but his head slouched to the side and his eyes slipped shut. His world faded to black, and all he could hear was the doctor's strained voice.

"I'm so sorry."

The earth was flat. And Adam was standing right on the edge of it. Staring straight into the endless abyss of space. In front of him, the sun burned bright, so close that Adam felt he should've already turned to dust.

In his hand, he held a chain leash. On the other end of it was a rotting foot. It was peering into the eternal darkness just like Adam was.

"I don't think this is the way home," the foot admitted.

No. No, this was not. It was suffocating out here.

But this way leads to freedom, the puppet had said. Adam was sure of it. Even though the puppet's face was warped and he didn't have lips, or eyes, or a nose, he was just skin folding into skin folding into skin folding into—

"You know—" Adam looked down at his pet foot as it turned to him— "there really isn't any way out of this."

"Yeah," Adam whispered.

No way out of the fact that they were never getting home. No way out of burning to a crisp in the hot sun.

The foot sighed. "Everybody dies and becomes rat food eventually. And even though you're a piece of shit, so is everyone else, in the end."

Adam hummed. He was a piece of shit, wasn't he?

He started to chuckle at that. He'd be shriveled up in no time, and then there'd be no life left in his brittle bones.

"God, it's a—" Adam started to snicker— "scorcher out here, huh?"

His pet foot started to chuckle along. "Quite."

"Unseasonably warm."

They continued to observe the aftermath of the sun's rays. Adam saw the world crumble beneath his feet. "Hey look! Carnage!"

He kept chuckling with his foot so that he wouldn't have to think about how quickly he'd turn to dust now. Because the sun was getting bigger and brighter and if it didn't burn him up, the flares leaping off its surface sure would.

The smile slipped from his lips after all that.

"Feels like I'm in hell, Larry," he admitted.

"It sure does. And that's exactly where you'll be in a few moments."

Yes. Because it was Adam's death day. He was sure of it. And he and Larry both knew he wouldn't make it to the man upstairs.

He turned around, finally thinking that maybe there was a way around the sun to get home.

But now, he was in a house of mirrors.

"I don't think this is..."

He faded off when Larry turned into a snake and slithered straight out of his leash.

Adam hummed. Clearly, that wasn't his pet foot. His was no shapeshifter. He must have taken the wrong one home from the park.

But the foot would find him. It always found him.

The sun must have still been out there, and now, it was brighter than ever as its light bounced off all the mirrors. And it was melting Adam away.

His death day. It was definitely his death day.

And his skin was falling off his bones in one mirror, and in the other, boiling, and in the other, blistering so badly that he'd be unrecognizable in just a few moments. Almost like the man caked to the floor of the bathroom...

Adam could feel bile rising in his throat. Bathroom. He had to find a bathroom. He was about to puke. Adam lurched forward and didn't make it two more steps before convulsing and sending a foot out his mouth and down to the ground in front of him.

Adam stared at it a few moments, then recognized the form squirming there.

There was his pet foot! How silly of him. Must have hidden in the trash Adam had for breakfast. Larry loves to play in trash. Especially in hotels. Especially with his medical students.

A hand grabbed Adam's ankle and started to twist, and the foot smiled up at him with rows and rows of teeth, all made of glass and one-way mirrors and—

"I really don't give a shit about Adam," it hissed. Its tongue was made of razor wire that flicked around like a snake and it sliced into Adam's leg.

He shouted and tried to recoil back, but the hand's grip on his ankle was too tight, and it was twisting his leg around and around and around and his bones were splintering and cutting through his skin.

And a mirror fell on him and he was sent to a world with flesh-covered walls that pulsed and told Adam to run, run far away, it is coming, and he better get going — all without saying a word.

But how was he supposed to run with his leg all twisted like this?

And then the ceiling opened and blood poured in and filled the room to the brim and the hand that twisted his leg was gluing him to the bottom of the flesh pit and—

Adam's eyes sprang open.

He gasped for air and tried to sit up. But his throat caught on something that slammed him back down. Coughing, he dropped his head back down on the ground.

And he looked up at the ceiling above him.

A very familiar ceiling.

One he hadn't seen from this perspective since he woke up in this filthy place, choking and coughing just like he was now. With bright, blinding lights, and disgusting water, and screams, and lies...

All near this bathtub that was all too familiar to him.

This place told Adam stories that he never wanted to relive.

His left foot was caught in something, covered up. A bar was secured over his neck, pinning him down against the tub's basin.

He heard footsteps that thumped. One loud, one gentle, in a painful rhythm.

"Lawrence."

Adam reached his hand out to the doctor, kicked with his right foot, jolted his midsection up and down. Anything he could think of to work against the bar and the thing that was cutting away at his foot with every move.

Lawrence grabbed Adam's leg, steadying it. "Don't. You'll hurt yourself. Just calm down, you're gonna need your strength."

"The fuck is going on?"

"It was me, Adam. Behind the camera." He chuckled. "Guess it was a bit of a role reversal there."

Adam's breath caught in his throat.

He had preached to the "sick fucks" behind the camera that he and Lawrence would burn the whole place to the ground. Over and over again, he had sworn revenge and help for the doctor.

And the person he was talking to was Lawrence?

A fucking role reversal?

Adam tried to argue, tell the doctor that he was mistaken and this was all some sick game. But the look of sincerity in Lawrence's eyes made every word seem completely inconsequential.

Lawrence told him, "My colleagues did the heavy lifting. But you know, nerve gas, antidote, they needed someone else to help out with that." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And Logan sure as hell wasn't gonna figure that out, don't tell him I said that." Then he started to speak normally again. "But anyway, I—"

"Lawrence. What the fuck is going on?"

The doctor shifted uncomfortably, then sat on the edge of the tub. "I need you to know that whatever happens here, Adam," Lawrence leaned in, emphasizing his words, "I've got you."

And with the way he said it, combined with the atrocious room they were in, it all came back to Adam.

He remembered lying face-first in the bathroom, blood pooling around his head. He could feel his life slip away, and he was idly waiting for it.

Until the doctor showed up.

"I've got you," Lawrence had whispered to him.

Lawrence sounded exhausted. His voice shook with every word, and splashes of water – they must have been tears, thinking about it now – dripped onto Adam's face.

Adam's left leg was chained and his ankle was throbbing inside of it. He was starving, exhausted from a recent argument where he had once again blamed Lawrence's foot for everything that happened.

"She, she, I'll—" Lawrence shouted between cries. "I'll kill her!"

Lawrence had sat down next to Adam, pulling him up. Adam's head flopped uselessly along as the doctor rested it down in his lap.

"Adam, Adam stay with me." Lawrence looked up and screamed, "Mark! Logan! Come on, he's alive!"

Adam's breaths were shallow. He clung to life as he let out quick, small bursts of air. The world had muffled around him, and he couldn't even begin to try and move.

Two new sets of footsteps approached. "How the hell?"

"Please help him," Lawrence whispered.

Someone knelt down next to Adam and placed a hand on his shoulder. All he could do was groan as new pain radiated down on his arm.

"You really tore this guy up," Mark murmured.

"Get off of him."

"Gotta see if he's fit for another game."

Adam heard Lawrence slap Mark's hand away. It bounced down and hit him, making him flinch.

"He's been through enough," the doctor told Mark.

His protests weren't enough. In one quick motion, one that Lawrence could never block, Adam felt one of them rip him out of Lawrence's arms. He dragged Adam away, his shoulder screaming at him as his arm trailed behind.

But Lawrence screamed louder.

The jolting was too much. Adam finally drifted off again, drowning out the sounds all around him.

And now, he was here again, the doctor looking as gutted as he did in the bathroom.

"You don't want this, do you?" Adam asked.

That was the only thing he could rationalize. Lawrence had become another pawn in these games that never seemed to end. But they would figure it out. They had to.

There was no choice. There never were any choices here.

Lawrence whispered, "I never wanted any of this."

"Then let me—"

"I can't."

The hair in Lawrence's face hid his eyes. Adam wanted to read them, see if they could give him any more answers. But the doctor just looked sad. Heartbroken.

Over something Adam could tell he truly could not control.

"Lawrence, what did you do?"

The doctor shuttered. "I let my emotions get in the way, like I always tried to keep you from doing. And now, you can't leave."

Time and time again, people said that. But where would he go when this was all over? Was it just an endless cycle of games?

"What does that mean?"

"It means—" Lawrence winced, then let out a breath. "If you get out, when you get out, because of what I did — and... I'll never be able to apologize enough for this, Adam — you would have to join us."

Adam's breath caught in his throat.

Join them? Put someone else through the hell that he had to face? Rip someone else from their home and force them to go through some games with arbitrary rules?

"No fucking way."

Never in a million years.

"That's the only alternative, Adam. Remember what I told you in here: 'death is not an alternative to living.' Your choices are to live and join us, or..." Lawrence ran his fingers through his hair and slammed his hands back down. "Choose yourself this time, okay?"

Adam shivered. Live or die, that was always what these people said. Live and keep these games going, or die so he didn't have to put someone else through this hell.

Be himself until the very end.

After all, he did have a choice.

And the 'better' of the two options scared the crap out of him.

"But before you get that choice, we uh, we have to..."

Lawrence looked around at the tub, the walls, the light, anything other than Adam. He shifted around, and Adam could practically hear his brain try to come up with something.

The doctor sighed.

"We have to play a game."

Chapter Text

It's never been enough.

Adam had spent his entire life fighting. With his dad to stop being so angry, and his mom to stop being so busy. He had fought Scott more times than he could count about lashing out and taking all the world's problems out on him. Every day at work turned into another fight with his clients about getting them to actually treat him like a human being.

None of that ever seemed to work.

But here, he fought to get Lawrence back. Get himself back. It all worked, and he felt ready to figure it all out. There could be more to life than sulking around and drowning himself in alcohol before begrudgingly starting it all over the next day. He had found hope again, and he used that to fight as hard as he could to get them both out of here.

But it wasn't enough.

Lawrence took a tape recorder out of his pocket. He moved it around in his hands, as if he needed to familiarize himself with it. But he was of course no stranger to them. Between the ones in this bathroom and what the doctor had set up, Adam never wanted to see another tape recorder ever again.

“You need to know the rules,” Lawrence whispered.

He was still looking at the tape, refusing to meet Adam's gaze.

“Lawrence…”

They were supposed to leave here together. They were supposed to win…

“You promised me,” Adam whispered.

The doctor looked down at the tape. He flipped it around, studying it like it had the next clue written on it. He nervously shuffled around on the top of the tub, muttering something that Adam couldn't even begin to decipher.

He finally murmured, “I know.”

Lawrence only needed to give them a chance to win. Adam could have done the rest, he knew it.

“Don't lie to me, too.”

Adam had blamed himself over and over again. He had made so many mistakes in this bathroom, mistakes he wanted to take back. But he knew he sure as hell didn't deserve all of this.

Lawrence told him, “The people who let me get you out — yes, I needed permission — said that you needed to play one more game, since you technically lost the first one. I was supposed to get you through, and the only rule was that you couldn't figure out it was me. Then I messed up, and now—”

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

It was as if Lawrence wanted Adam to be pissed at him. Wanted to see more than the confusion written all over Adam's face.

But all Adam knew was that the doctor was gone. Adam had grown to respect the hell out of Lawrence. His ability to hold his own, his dedication, his willpower, they all made up the person that Adam cared for. The person he wanted to be.

But all of that was gone. Consumed by these games, just like everything else.

Adam couldn't lose who he was to this, too.

He couldn’t.

He couldn't let himself think about the alternative, though, either. Not yet. Not when there was still time to convince Lawrence how completely wrong all of this was.

After a moment of silence, where Lawrence was either gathering his thoughts or processing Adam's options, he spoke up. “I'm telling you all of this because you need to help yourself now. Here and with Scott, you went on and on about how I'm some hero or something. Even at your worst, you would still turn it back around.”

“Lawrence, I—”

“But I need you to help yourself now.”

Adam sighed. Helping himself and wanting to get out wasn't the problem. Not anymore. It was what came next.

“Please don't do this.”

“Just follow the rules.” Lawrence's lip curled. “And you'll be okay.”

But he wouldn't. Not if those were his only two choices. There had to be another way, they could put it all behind them. It wasn't too late to get him out of this right now and—

Lawrence held the tape recorder up. “I know I'm here, but… in the moment, I would hate to forget something.”

Adam's heart pounded out of his chest. This couldn't be it. It had to be another lie.

“I need you, Lawrence. There's a way out of—”

The doctor put his fingers to his lips. He couldn't make eye contact with Adam. He looked off to the side, focusing on something that wasn't even there.

Adam took in a sharp breath. “Lawrence!”

The tape was clicked on anyway.

“Hey Adam. It’s time for your final game.”

It wasn't Jigsaw who spoke to him through the tape. The old, raspy voice was replaced. The new voice was deep, shaky. Sounded like the person speaking to him had just finished crying, and was now forcing out every syllable.

It was Lawrence's voice this time.

“We're back where it all started, huh? When you woke up here, you almost drowned in this bathtub. Then before I could get you help, Amanda selfishly decided to try to leave you breathless again.”

Adam would have rolled his eyes if they weren't squeezed as tight as he could get them. The condescending jokes were driving him fucking crazy. They were like a pack of dogs toying with their food before finally finishing him off.

He'd be damned if he let any of them see him squirm.

“Sorry for the pun, the boss insisted.”

Lawrence let out the slightest chuckle, and Adam looked up just in time to see the faint smile form on the doctor's face. As if he had a fond memory of making this thing.

Adam missed the “calm doctor guy” he had fought for. He wanted more than anything to get him back. There should have been a way.

“But now you have the power to do something about it, Adam. After the water starts, it takes sixty seconds for that bathtub to fill. The only way out is to open the collar that's pinning you down. The key is in the tub with you again, only this time, great care was put into placing it. All you have to do is grab it and get out. No tricks.”

One of the last things Adam told Lawrence before he shot him was that he had a family, too. He reminded him that there were people back home, waiting for Adam.

A family he had neglected. He wanted to see them.

But if that was it…

“Though, grabbing that key is not as easy as it sounds, is it?”

Easy. The word rang in Adam's ears, chiming constantly like a bell. None of this was easy, and people needed to stop being so damn misleading.

Condescending.

“Your left leg is in the same shackle as it was when this all began. In front of it is a button. You must hold that button down with your foot. Doing so will give you the key.”

There was a gust of air on Adam's foot when Lawrence ripped the top away. He slammed a timer down on the edge of the tub next to it.

Adam sighed and looked down. In a moment of weakness, he needed to know what he would have been up against.

His eyes widened.

“But at the expense of your foot.”

It looked like a guillotine.

There was a button just past his foot. A chain held his ankle in place, pinning it against the side of the tub. A wire connected the button to the blade around his foot.

Ready to clamp down and slice it off in one swift motion.

“I cut off my foot to save my life. Are you willing to do the same?”

Adam closed his eyes as tightly as he could and sunk into the bottom of the tub. His lips curled and his heart pounded in his ears.

“You're okay, you're okay, you're okay, you're—”

“What are you willing to do to really prove you want to live? What are you willing to sacrifice to get out of here? You told me that you want to live, now is your chance to prove it.”

“It's okay.”

Because at least he would die proud of himself. Of the choice he made.

He had one last decision to make here.

The right one.

“I'm not supposed to say this, but I really do hope you make it out of here… Good luck, Adam.”

The tape clicked, and the room filled with silence.

Good luck?

Good fucking luck?

He didn't know why that pissed him off so much. It was as if luck could make this all go away. Like luck could give him Scott and his own life back. If it were down to luck or choices, he could do this right now.

But it wasn't about that. It never had been.

“Wow.” Adam forced out a shaky chuckle. “Good luck? Thanks for that. They can put it on my tombstone: got wished good luck moments before drowning.”

Lawrence flinched, as if he was trying to stop himself from considering that option. As if he convinced himself Adam would be willing to give in.

At least he was wrong about that.

Adam squirmed. He still couldn't believe Lawrence did give in. He was supposed to be the strong one. The one that mattered, the one to be looked up to.

“You're still keeping those up, huh?” Lawrence asked.

Adam curled his lips into a toothy grin that he knew looked forced. The remark was weak and he knew it, but it was still him. And who he was was all he had left.

No one, not even Lawrence, would take that from him.

“Part of my charm.”

Adam couldn't let Lawrence see how terrifying this choice was. He forced himself to not shiver and cry out for help. It didn't work the first time, before the doctor had lost sight of who he was. It sure as hell wouldn't be any different now.

There wasn't a true choice here. The only alternative was to become everything he hated. He wouldn't go out hating himself and the choices he had made. It would be here after all, where Zep and Lawrence's foot would forever keep him company.

This room would be the one he died in.

Why did that have to be the one fulfilled promise?

“It's not too late for you, Adam.”

But Lawrence went to the end of the tub anyway, and he put his hand on the knob. Adam let out a few shaky breaths, staring at the doctor.

There was no stopping him now. Adam's friend was gone.

Adam whispered, “Yeah, it is.”

Lawrence sighed and looked in Adam's eyes. Adam forced himself to meet the doctor’s stare. He needed him to know that he would not back down from this one.

He would stick to his own choice.

He owed himself that much.

“Like you said, Adam, this bathroom is prehistoric. But what you didn't know is that the boss is sentimental. He insists that we use this same tub. No fancy dials to start the water with the click of a button.”

Adam breathed faster as Lawrence's hand started to twitch against the knob. They were just stalling at this point, but Adam had hoped that at least Lawrence would respect him enough to just get this over with.

“Lawrence, don’t do this.”

But the doctor slowly twisted the knob anyway, and he heard a screech echo throughout the room. The cold water rushed down and Lawrence started the timer.

“Make your choice.”

Chapter Text

60, 59, 58...

The water poured in and surrounded him like a pool of ice. Adam's midsection shot up before he even realized what he was doing. He thrashed around and clawed at the vice around his neck.

"Lawrence!"

The water touched his ears, and his head instinctually snapped away, ramming his throat against the bar. He dropped his head back down and coughed, bits of water leaking into his mouth.

49...

"Adam, you have to play the game!" Lawrence shouted.

The sound was muffled, his ears were almost submerged. It was like drums were being played around him and echoing on all sides.

But the doctor screamed on, his voice blurring more and more.

42...

The water was nearing his eyes, his mouth. Adam narrowed his lips. Keep breathing, he needed to keep himself breathing as long as he could.

"Lawrence, please!"

Just like he had begged before. He heard himself clearly there, what he had said to this same doctor in this same room, feeling just as helpless as he had then.

But look how that worked out the first time.

The water started to dribble into his lips. He tilted his head up as much as he could, but it put pressure on his throat.

Lawrence grimaced and turned away, no doubt unable to stomach this. It was ripping him apart and Adam knew it. The guilt would eat him alive.

Adam started, "Don't leave—"

But the water entered his lungs and he tried to cough it out. He squirmed against his restraints some more, but he felt a burn in his chest.

The water swayed around. The cold cut into him all over, but it was even sharper where his skin was exposed.

The doctor looked back at Adam with his red-tinged eyes.

27...

Adam couldn't force his head up anymore. He keep staring at Lawrence as his body uselessly wriggled and shivered against the water.

His lips were almost submerged, the water seeping through no matter how much he narrowed them.

The doctor had left. Despite every promise he had ever made in here. Despite everything Adam had done.

Adam didn't recognize the man in front of him anymore.

This was it.

After all he had done.

"Okay, okay, okay, okay..."

His neck was cramping, and his muscles were screaming against the cold water. With a final gasp of air, he let his head thud against the bottom of the tub.

And he had no idea how much time was left on the clock...

It's okay, it's okay, it's—

Lawrence screamed even louder now, and Adam could hear a bang from his direction. The sound made him jump, but he tried to settle down.

He tried to force his mind past the screaming and burning in his lungs, past the blaring sound of the water still pooling in.

He put his hand on his chest, counting the beats. Anything to remind him of the fact that right then, his heart was still going.

Pounding.

And he could be the person he wanted to be.

Adam reached his hand out towards where he last saw Lawrence. He didn't know why, maybe the doctor would reach out in a last minute of sympathy.

Like Adam knew his real friend would have, just days ago. Before the world fell apart all around them.

The doctor lost. Not just his game, he lost sight of who he was. This wasn't him, Adam couldn't accept any other explanation.

The biggest, most devastating pawn of them all.

Lawrence cut the water off. The sound from the water falling went away, no longer hiding Adam's grunts and cries he didn't even know he was making. He could hear himself gasp for the air that he couldn't reach anymore.

It made him want the sound of the rushing water to come back.

"You just had to play!" Lawrence cried. "All you had to do was win, and everything would be okay!"

Adam's lungs were burning. It felt like acid was being put into them, one drop at a time. And surrounding him was endless ice that he couldn't help but shiver against, the movements getting more and more weak as time passed.

He needed distractions again. A reminder of the person he needed to be. He forced his mind elsewhere, away from the screams, and the water, and his burning lungs.

On to one of his favorite memories, one that he liked telling to people who would listen. When he was twelve, he had given up on asking his parents for siblings. There was no point anymore, and Scott was getting sick of his complaints. Said he was being unreasonable, that not having to share the house with other kids sounded like a dream come true.

He found someone else to keep him company when he waited for his mom to come back from work. He had marched home from his bus stop, kicking rocks along while mumbling to them. When he went out to the backyard, he had found a stray cat and her kittens underneath his parents' shed.

The cat had walked up to him, and he decided to care for it. He would go to his school's library and find books about them, talking to them about his day. From that day on, he knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life helping those animals.

But things change.

A slam jolted Adam out of his thoughts. "I'm gonna have to be the bad guy again!" Lawrence shouted.

His mind was exactly where he didn't want it to be. The fire in his lungs returned and he gripped both sides of the tub. He kicked with his right foot and clawed at the vice.

Anywhere else. His mind needed to be anywhere but here.

He slammed his fist down and forced himself against the basin. His mind soon wandered off again.

To when he and Scott could have graduated together, if they hadn't burned that bridge long ago. Scott's performance had been a bust, but they were still blissfully unaware of how it would all go.

They had told themselves that all they needed was time.

Adam still showed up to his class' ceremony. He brought his camera with him and took pictures of the people who would let him. If he were to "make it big" like they always hoped, he needed as much practice as people would allow.

It was fun. Capturing the photos of his friends and classmates brought a smile to his face. It always had.

And he had thought about his classmates, the ones who actually made him feel like he meant something, as he walked into his makeshift darkroom that night. The old shed in his backyard had been renovated, allowing him to practice.

The cats had left long ago. He hoped they found a home elsewhere, but deep down he knew they were probably gone. As dead as a lot of his other dreams.

But he had pushed that aside as he developed the photos in the room his dad had built for him and his mom had saved the cash for. Anything to make him happy, as she always said.

This was the path for him, he assured himself while hanging the pictures up. He would finally show everyone that his mother was right. She just wanted him to be happy.

And now, he grit his teeth at the memory. He hadn't given her that either.

"I can't believe you're making me do this!" Lawrence's muffled shout traveled across the water.

Adam tried to reach his arm back out towards the doctor, but he couldn't lift it up anymore. It pitifully swayed at his side. He wasn't shivering, he could only lie there as the water froze him more.

Warmth. Comfort.

He wasn't even allowed to have that.

His lips parted – he couldn't keep them pursed anymore.

He had so many regrets. Things he genuinely was going to change when he got out.

Adam remembered his twentieth birthday. Scott had dedicated a performance to him, but it did even worse than usual. The only people who showed up were the regulars who gave Adam the typical "happy birthday" lip service.

But it almost felt belittling to him, he couldn't explain it. He knew that if he had done more, there would be more at the show than the patrons of some crappy bar that violated all kinds of health codes.

And he had just failed his GED test. He had enough trouble focusing in school, but it had felt impossible at that point.

Scott was off with his friends and Adam was drinking beer on his own, only making small talk with the people who approached him.

Wondering where everything went wrong.

Adam couldn't stop himself from gasping. It just happened, he didn't even realize he did it.

Suffocating. He had felt suffocated in the restaurant and graduation, but he hadn't realized at the time how many people had tried. His classmates, the customers, they had honestly cared.

There was comfort in that.

His arms floated at his sides.

And he remembered his last moments that he had before the life he knew was torn away.

He had stomped up the stairs of his apartment building, listening to his guilty-pleasure music to drown out the shouts of his landlord. Smoking long drags of his cigarette, he had mindlessly made his way over to his unit, spotting the cat that sat by his door.

She startled him, she hadn't stopped by for a few days.

"Jesus, cat."

But he calmed down as soon as she looked at him, giving him that same face he was used to. He unlocked his door and poured her some milk. At least this wouldn't go to waste.

He had placed the milk on the ground and picked the cat up, stroking her face. "What a lovely, non-judgmental animal you are."

If only it was always that easy.

He had put her back down on the ground and went inside his unit.

He cringed at himself and threw his keys down on the table. Couldn't help but replay every beat of what he had said to Amanda — or Rockstar at the time. He was so sick of cringing and being judged.

Just have some dinner and do some work, then he could go to bed. He kept reminding himself of that as he made his way to the fridge. Dinner, work, bed, dinner, work—

He scoffed at himself as he looked in the fridge.

Beer and suspicious-looking ketchup. He had forgotten to go to the store again.

Fuck dinner. Just get this done so I can go to bed.

He had slammed the door and walked to the shitty darkroom in his messy apartment that young him would have cringed at.

And he silently apologized to that little kid, just like he always did, before putting his camera down and eyeing the answering machine behind him.

He pressed play before getting ready to develop the pictures, and winced as his mother's voice sounded from the machine. She sounded like she was in tears.

"Adam, are you there? Please pick up if you're there."

There was a silent beat as she no doubt tried to collect herself and think of something encouraging to say, like she always did. He continued to process the photos in silence.

Until she chirped out, "Your father's not angry anymore. We just want to know if you're alright."

He stayed busy with the films, but he couldn't help but feel a bit better with her words. Even then, when she was talking to a machine, she still knew what to say.

But he couldn't face him. He wasn't even sure if he could face her anymore.

"Please call, honey... goodbye."

He sighed and put his equipment down. He looked up and scribbled a note to himself.

Call Mom

Who was he kidding? He would pick up the phone and draw a blank while trying to form words, then slam it down and give up.

He added to the note.

Call Mom?

But he never did.

And now it was her voice that echoed around in his head as his world faded to black. Somehow, even blacker than it had ever been down here.

He wouldn't be able to tell her that she loved him after all.

Or thank his graduating class for being there, or the people at the restaurant for doing everything they could to help him.

He was going to fade to nothing after all, clawing at his throat. And despite what he had convinced himself for all of those years, these people would miss him.

At least his funeral would be more than just his mom and the cat.

The ceremony would mourn the body of a person who stayed loyal to himself all through the end.

He could feel his body start to give in as he floated to the surface, and the tops of his arms stopped shivering. He couldn't shiver anymore. His heart wasn't pounding in his ears, it was weakly pulsating in short, drawn out bursts.

"You were supposed to win!"

But he did. This was his choice, and he was proud of the one he made. He wouldn't rip anyone away from their home and steal their life from them.

He made this choice count.

He did good.

And he kept reminding himself of that as his heart slowed to almost nothing and the world faded around him.

It's okay, it's okay, you did it.

He won.

The cane thumped away from him and he heard crashes all around. The door sealed him in.

But not before he heard the raspy, distraught voice of the man he had given everything for. The man he had gone through hell and back to see.

The man he had killed for.

"Game over."

Chapter Text

Something snapped.

Adam could feel the agonizing blows against his chest. He could hear his bones give way with every beat.

“17, 18, 19…”

The numbers that went on and on, in unison with the excruciating blows.

“23, 24, 25…”

But why were there numbers? There should never, ever be numbers again. Everything was gone, including the timers, and the pain, and the screams, and the games, and—

It stopped, and his nose was plugged. Musty air was forced into his mouth. And that was enough.

Everything came back.

He gasped for breath and sat up, coughing and vomiting up what felt like an endless stream of water. A hand was placed on his back. It alternated between reassuringly resting there and beating against him to help out.

He slammed his hand against the floor as blood laced the water.

Tears formed in his eyes. His ribs rattle inside of him, jolting around like tree branches caught in a devastating storm.

But Lawrence was there, he could feel it. The doctor was making little circles on Adam's back. His last hope had come back, found him clinging to life, and helped him out.

Like he had promised.

So many lies in this place. Suffocating, disgusting lies that had once ripped away every shred of hope Adam ever had.

But that wasn't one of them.

Adam tried to open his mouth. There were so many things that he wanted to say to the doctor. But the moment he made even a peep, his body was wracked with excruciating coughs again.

“No,” Lawrence told him. “Don't talk. Save your energy, Adam. You've been through hell.”

The doctor looked calm. The agony and desperation had finally left the man's features, replaced with sureness. Hope.

Happiness.

Something that Adam had never associated him with.

“You're probably wondering what happened,” Lawrence murmured.

No shit!

“Drowning, it… it takes a while. Gave me time to uh, debate some stuff. Find a way.” Adam furrowed his brows and Lawrence smiled. “Yeah, figured that wouldn't be enough. That guy, Mark. There's a deal I made that he knows nothing about. I found a way, and I need you to get the hell out of here while you still can.”

Lawrence sighed when Adam tried to gesture for him to go on. “No, Adam. I can't explain it to you. Who knows what would happen to you if…”

The two were silent. All they could hear around them was the nothing that still radiated throughout this bathroom. The bathroom that they both needed to get the hell out of as fast as humanly possible.

“I'm sorry,” Lawrence whispered.

But none of that mattered anymore. Whatever it was, he just wanted them home. Both of them.

Adam took in a shaky breath and croaked out, “Come with me. Please.”

The answer was obvious before the doctor even let out the first word. His face told Adam everything he needed to know.

He meant leave without him. Abandon the person who had fought through hell over and over again.

How was he supposed to do that?

Lawrence smiled. “Took your place. One of us was gonna have to…” He sighed. “My original plan wasn't necessarily to stick around here, yanno?”

For just a moment, Adam could see the sadness in Lawrence's eyes. But the doctor pushed it down faster than it appeared.

Adam was supposed to leave him here? What about everything they were supposed to do? Alison and Diana were still out there, waiting for him.

“Lawrence—”

“Go down the hall. Follow the path you came here from. Walk through the gap between the pipes and you will see a marked one. Turn left, and you'll find a new trail. The path will lead you straight outta here.”

Adam widened his eyes and looked over at the door behind him. The way out was through there, but he couldn't get his legs to march over to it.

Not without—

“The bodies. I could put him… keep him here and tell Mark you failed. John said — yes, I could keep him away.” Lawrence looked up at Adam and shouted, “It's all coming together!”

The sight broke Adam's heart. The doctor's frantic words and exaggerated smile couldn't hide the agony of being left behind.

Just like Adam had felt in this same room.

“Come with me,” Adam whispered.

The words stopped Lawrence dead in his tracks. He looked down at the ground, his gaze no doubt right in line with the blood littered all over the tiles. “It's too late, Adam. I promised.”

“There's gotta be a—”

“If I come with you and Mark finds out — which he would, by the way — we are both dead. That scumbag is ruthless.”

His expression was clear, leaving no trace of doubt that Adam could use for argument. He knew the doctor well enough to be able to tell when he had made up his mind on something.

So this was it.

The glorious dream of destroying everything this place stood for was gone. It was just as shattered as so many of Adam's hopes. It was time to move on and figure out this mess of a world. Without Lawrence.

For now.

“I promise I'm gonna fix this.”

There had to be a way. There was always a way. And Adam would find it.

No matter what it took.

Lawrence stepped forward and put a hand on Adam's good shoulder. “You already have.”

Neither man could stop their tears. They stared at each other, the world feeling like it was just their own. They listened to the sound of Lawrence's sniffles as the man tried to hold himself together.

And something about the sound, and the feeling, it all came together in the blink of an eye.

Adam remembered lying there on the cold, hard bed. He was just as still and silent as ever under the hold of the anesthesia. He had woken up from whatever it was that Lawrence had done to his shoulder, the searing pain still shooting down his arm.

But despite it all, he could still feel Lawrence's calming presence as the doctor sat down on the bed. “Adam, I…”

The shift had jolted Adam's shoulder, and he internally winced.

“I'm so sorry, Adam.”

The doctor had uncomfortably shifted around on the bed, no doubt unable to find a spot that didn't hurt his own injuries.

Every movement sent another wave down Adam's arm.

Please stop moving.

But he wasn't mad. Despite it all, he had never been mad at him.

And he wished more than anything that he could tell him that. Reassure him that no matter what tomorrow morning would bring, he would never be angry with the doctor who just wanted to get back to his family. The person who was in his corner throughout everything, fighting with every last bit of strength.

How could he ever be mad at him?

Adam wanted to tell him all of this so bad, but he just couldn't…

It's okay, I promise.

“You're-you're gonna be put in another game, and—” Adam's heart sped up as he tried, to no avail, to ask for clarity. But Lawrence continued on. “You need to make it out. Follow the rules and…”

The pain in Adam's shoulder was nothing compared to listening as the doctor's heart broke.

There was so much uncertainty that the two silently shared, but there was some comfort to it. Even though the squeak of the bed was the only thing that broke the silence.

“I'm sorry. If you don't make it out…”

The thought of another game had sickened Adam. Frightened him to his core. The thought of being alone there, doing who-knows-what through an endless maze of games.

But if it meant it would let the two see the light of day again…

“You would have been a great vet. A husband, a father, if you wanted to be. But if something happens, you won't be able to figure that out.”

He needed to figure it out. Get his life in order and push aside the bullshit that had held him down for so long.

If only he could move.

How could he ever figure any of this out without—

“It doesn't matter how far down the pit we seem, there is always hope.”

Hope.

Something that Adam hadn't felt in a long time. A concept that scared him more and more.

But it was something he needed.

“And I want you to keep that in mind if you can hear me. Don't lose hope.”

He had wanted to thank Lawrence. Tell him that they could figure it out, give each other the strength and hope they needed.

Adam would have to do it later, when they both got the hell out of here.

Remember, remember. Remember this, Adam.

“Get out of this and finish what you started. And don't you ever take your life for granted again.”

Lawrence was perfectly still.

And Adam wanted to stay there, in the reassuring company of the man who had seen hell right along with him. The silent presence that told him that somehow, someway, things could be okay in the end.

Lawrence had held Adam's hand and squeezed it tight.

For just a moment, everything felt right.

But that's when the shouting started.

As the memory faded away to nothing, Adam looked over at the doctor he owed everything to. If Lawrence was supposed to keep his involvement a secret from him, and Mark caught that…

Adam was right. All along, Lawrence was another pawn in these games.

A pawn that needed to be saved, no matter what.

He smiled at Lawrence. His hope had never abandoned him.

“What?” Lawrence asked.

“Nothing.”

There had to be a way, and Adam would find it. The doctor had scratched and clawed his way to Adam's second chance, and now he was going to return the favor.

No matter what.

Lawrence recoiled and looked down, his cheeks tinged with a hint of red. “Look, I'm not good at this. But you need to do whatever it is that makes you happy. Whether it's having a family or owning all the animals you can find. Do it, be a vet, it's not too late for you. You're smart and—”

“I know.”

“What do you mean?”

Adam smiled. “I know. You told me.”

He had no clue what waited for him out there. The prospect of this new life — the second chance that had always seemed so far out of reach — was overwhelming. So foreign to him that it felt like it could all send him running right back to what he left behind.

But he couldn't, not this time. He would find a way, like he always did.

And Lawrence would be in his corner, watching it all.

“I promise you I'll fix this,” Adam repeated.

It all seemed so impossible to the doctor, it was clear with every movement he made. “You go do your thing out there.” For the briefest of moments, Adam could see the fear in his face. “And I'll… do my thing here.”

There was hope for him, and Adam knew it. Just like there had been hope for Adam too, lurking in the shadows and waiting for the best time to surface. Even in the bleakest of times, the doctor had been there. Because there was always hope.

Lawrence just needed a reminder.

“It doesn't matter how far down the pit we seem, there is always, always hope. You told me that.”

Lawrence smiled. “Get out of here. I've got a mess to clean up.”

The clarity in his voice was the final thing Adam needed to force himself to walk back towards the door. The one that led out of the room full of screams, and pain, and cries.

The insidious place that he never wanted to see again.

He hovered in the doorway, where Lawrence and Jigsaw had both left him here. It had sucked all the hope right out of him. He turned around and looked over to where Zep remained, right where Adam had once laid, terrified. Where he had splayed out on the ground and let out the most blood-curdling scream. Where the lights went out for what he truly believed would be the last time.

Adam smiled at that version of himself, reassured of how his story would end.

“You're gonna be okay,” he whispered.

He said it. Didn't plead for it in an agonizing moment of desperation. Because now, for the first time he finally knew it was true.

Lawrence looked back at him after studying something with Adam's old chain. He hummed.

But Adam's silence was enough to answer whatever it was that Lawrence wanted to ask.

They nodded to each other in a silent gesture of understanding. A promise that they would see each other again.

And this time, it was Lawrence who spoke up.

“We're gonna be okay.”

They would. And Adam would find a way to make sure of it.

So, he turned one last time, making his way through the door. Towards a life full of promises, and choices, and hope.

Just like he had been promised.

But not before he said the only words he could think to say to the doctor. Words that he knew would be equally unbroken.

“I wouldn't lie to you.”