Chapter 5 — John Kramer
Mary Mason went back to class.
When she was around, the clinic felt like a proper medical facility.
The moment she left, it became Ethan Rayne's personal "Holy Light training room."
He glanced at the clock. This time slot was always the quietest—the fewest patients, the calmest stretch of the day.
He took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and walked over to the operating table.
On it lay a turkey crisscrossed with various suturing marks—Mary's "practice specimen" from earlier.
Ethan raised both hands slightly, staring at the long-dead bird, and began murmuring under his breath.
"Resurrection."
A faint warmth bloomed in his palms.
Soft golden light seeped out between his fingers like thin currents of electricity, winding through the air and sinking into the turkey's body.
A few seconds later—
The turkey twitched.
Its chest expanded. Its throat released a strange choking sound—
"Ghk…"
Ethan held his breath, watching carefully.
The ripple of life was brief and fragile. It flickered for a few seconds… then collapsed like a snapped thread.
The turkey went limp again.
"Seven seconds." Ethan sighed. "That's one second longer than last time."
He scribbled a few lines into his notebook:
Resurrection — activates heartbeat for ~7 seconds.
Higher concentration = longer survival time.
Next step: attempt Resurrection followed by Greater Heal.
Even if someone read them, he could always claim it was just a gaming guide.
After all…
This world actually had World of Warcraft.
Ever since discovering he had a priest's abilities, Ethan had been practicing in secret. More than a decade had passed, and he'd mastered nearly every spell.
Except Resurrection.
It didn't work the way it did in the game.
In reality, revived animals usually survived only a few seconds. Today's seven seconds was already his best record so far.
He looked up at the turkey, hesitating—wondering if he should try again.
Then—
The bell rang.
Ding—
The door opened, and an elderly man stepped inside.
His head was wrapped in clean white gauze, covering a wound at the back of his skull. His hair was thin and frosty, his face clean yet carved with deep lines of age.
A dark brown sweater hung loosely on his frame, and the delicate ridge of his collarbone beneath the neckline made him look strangely fragile.
"Good afternoon, Doctor Rayne."
The man spoke softly.
Ethan froze for a beat, then smiled. "Mr. Kramer. I didn't expect to see you again so soon."
"I just came from the hospital."
John Kramer set his briefcase down and pulled out a stack of reports. "The doctors couldn't explain it. They could only call it…"
He paused, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
"…a miracle."
"A few weeks ago, they told me I had only a few months left. But today…"
His eyes narrowed with something like disbelief.
"…they told me surgery is possible."
Ethan took the reports and flipped through them.
On the MRI scans, the shadowed region had clearly shrunk. The almost impossible phenomenon—visible regression of the lesion—was right there in plain sight.
Ethan raised his eyes. "Then why not have the surgery done at the hospital?" he asked.
John stared at him.
"Because I like rules. The first time we met, you set rules—and I followed them. A game needs rules. Life does too. People fear death only because they've never understood what it truly means to live."
He pulled out a check and slid it across the desk with two fingers.
"One hundred thousand dollars."
Ethan's gaze landed on the paper, surprise flickering across his face.
John smiled faintly. "You said it yourself—treatment first. If it works, then payment, and we proceed to the next step."
"I recall you doubted me last time," Ethan said. "You said I was wasting a dying man's time."
"That was for people who don't value life." John's voice stayed calm, almost gentle. "I hate those who break contracts. In games or in life… rules must be honored."
"You're more talkative than before," Ethan noted.
John gave a quiet smile. "When you face death and return from it once, words become heavier than blood."
His gaze drifted, distant and cold.
"The patients in that hospital—begging, breaking down, despairing, indulging themselves, praying for one more day. And then I understood something."
He looked back at Ethan.
"The living are more afraid of truth than the dead."
"So you want to continue treatment?" Ethan asked.
"Of course."
Ethan nodded and stood, pulling on gloves.
His chest tightened. His fingers trembled slightly.
Yes—he was trembling.
The person before him was only an elderly patient.
Yet Ethan felt a primitive fear crawling up his spine.
That presence… it wasn't violence, or oppression.
It was control.
A man who had designed countless death games—
even with one foot in the grave, he could still make the air turn cold.
John Kramer was Rayne Clinic's first patient.
That day, the sign had barely been hung outside when John pushed the door open.
The first thing he said was:
"Doctor Rayne… I want to play a game."
Ethan hadn't reacted at first.
But the moment he realized who this was—John Kramer, the infamous Jigsaw Killer—
His entire body went rigid.
John wore a smile.
Not a threat.
A judgment.
The kind of smile that weighed whether someone was "worthy" of continuing to live.
Ethan had forced out a single sentence.
"I don't play games. I only save people."
John told him he had terminal brain cancer, late stage. That he'd once been deceived by frauds selling "cocktail therapy."
He never said what happened to those frauds afterward.
But Ethan could guess.
When John saw the words engraved on the clinic sign—
Healing Beyond Medicine—
he decided to step inside.
To see whether Ethan was another con artist…
or whether miracles still existed in this world.
Ethan suggested a simple rule:
Try one treatment first.
Then go back to the hospital for a checkup.
If it worked—then John would pay.
And they would proceed.
The rule was simple.
John accepted it.
Now… this was the second time.
John lay down calmly, eyes fixed on the surgical lamp above him.
The light formed a pale circle in his pupils—like the entrance to a ritual.
Ethan drew a deep breath, then placed his hands gently on John's chest and the back of his neck.
He closed his eyes and recalled the casting sequence from last time.
Power Word: Fortitude — boosting vitality for a set duration.
Heal — restoring damaged tissue instantly.
Renew — slow flow of life, repair, regeneration.
Cure Disease — clearing the lurking lesion.
The heat in Ethan's palms rose.
The air seemed to refract with light.
A soft golden glow spread between his fingers and seeped into John's body.
Blood rhythm and heartbeat overlapped—
as if the entire world had begun breathing in sync.
Only a few minutes passed, yet fine sweat already coated Ethan's forehead.
He lowered his voice. "That should be… enough."
The light slowly faded.
Ethan released his hands and exhaled deeply.
John Kramer sat up in silence.
His complexion looked healthier than before, his gaze sharper—clearer—like a blade freshly polished.
"How do you feel?" Ethan asked.
John pressed his lips together, voice low.
"My brain… no longer feels like it's constantly being squeezed."
A pause.
"This time, I'm certain—more effective than last time."
Then his eyes deepened again, as if he'd turned inward.
"Doctor… you made me think of a question."
Ethan watched him. "What question?"
John spoke slowly, each word deliberate.
"If a man possesses the power to save others…"
"Does he also possess the right—
to decide who deserves saving?"
Ethan was silent for a beat.
Then he answered, "I'm not a judge."
"But you decide who returns from death."
"I don't decide," Ethan shook his head. "I only treat."
John's lips lifted in a smile so faint it was almost imaginary.
"Then I'm truly lucky."
The air thickened.
Only the blinking light of a monitor remained, flickering quietly.
Ethan didn't speak again.
He removed his gloves, stepped behind the counter, and began tidying the surgical table in silence.
John stood, adjusting his coat.
"Thank you, Doctor," he said. "I do not fear death."
His gaze sharpened.
"But you have given me more time…"
"…to save those who are still alive—
and yet have already died."
The bell chimed softly.
John Kramer walked out.
Ethan stood beneath the surgical lamp, watching that thin, quiet figure disappear beyond the door.
Only after a long time did Ethan finally pick up the check.
He let out a bitter laugh.
"…Is it too late for me to change this place into a pet clinic?"
____
(Note: Saw franchise has been my favourite for a long time. If someone has not watched it yet, you are really missing out.)