Chapter 5: John Kramer
Mary Mason left for class.
With her around, the clinic functioned like a legitimate medical facility. Once she was gone, it transformed into Ethan Rayne's "Holy Light Training Ground."
He checked his watch—this time slot was always the quietest, when foot traffic was at its lowest.
He shrugged off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and walked toward the operating table.
On the table lay a turkey covered in various suture marks, an "experiment" Mary had left behind from her earlier practice session.
Ethan gently raised his hands, gazed at the long-dead bird, and spoke softly.
"Resurrection."
His palms warmed slightly, and a faint golden glow escaped from between his fingers, winding through the air like tiny electrical currents, drilling into the turkey's body.
A few seconds later, it twitched.
Its chest puffed out, and a strange "cluck—" escaped its throat.
Ethan held his breath, watching intently.
The flicker of life was brief and fragile, lasting only a few seconds before rapidly collapsing.
The turkey went limp again.
"Seven seconds," Ethan sighed. "One second longer than last time."
He pulled out a small notebook and scribbled a few lines in shorthand code he'd developed—a mixture of WoW terminology and medical jargon that would look like gibberish to anyone else:
Resurrection—cardiac activity sustained approx. 7 seconds. Mental focus appears to extend duration. Next attempt: chain Resurrection with Greater Heal immediately after.
This coded system was his private safeguard. Even if someone found the notebook, they'd assume it was game notes or D&D campaign planning.
After all, World of Warcraft actually existed in this universe.
Ever since discovering he possessed a Priest's abilities, Ethan had been practicing religiously. Ten years had passed, and he'd mastered nearly every spell, but Resurrection still didn't match the in-game mechanics. In reality, resurrected animals typically survived only a few seconds. Today's seven seconds was his personal record.
He stared at the turkey, debating whether to try again.
Just then—the door chime rang.
Ding—
The door opened, and an elderly man walked in.
His head was wrapped in clean white bandages, covering a wound on the back of his skull. His white hair was sparse and wispy, and his face, though clean-shaven, was deeply lined with age.
A dark brown cardigan hung loosely on his thin frame, and the slender bones of his neck beneath the collar looked particularly fragile.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Rayne."
John Kramer's voice was soft, measured.
Ethan blinked in surprise, then smiled. "Mr. Kramer. I didn't expect to see you again so soon."
"I just came from Cedars-Sinai."
John set down his briefcase and pulled out a stack of medical reports. "The doctors couldn't explain it. They could only call it—a miracle."
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. "A few weeks ago, they told me I had months to live. Now, they're saying I'm a candidate for surgery."
Ethan took the reports and opened them.
On the MRI scans, the dark masses had visibly shrunk—that nearly impossible "tumor regression" was obvious even to the untrained eye.
"Then why not have the surgery at the hospital?" Ethan asked.
John looked at him steadily. "Because I believe in rules. The first time we met, you established the terms, and I accepted them. Games need rules. Life needs rules. People fear death only because they've never understood the true value of living."
He pulled out a check and placed it gently on the counter.
"One hundred thousand dollars."
Ethan's gaze lingered on the paper, genuinely surprised.
John smiled faintly. "You said—treat first, and if it's effective, then payment and we proceed to the next phase."
"I remember you questioned me back then," Ethan said. "You told me I was wasting a dying man's time."
"That was meant for those who don't appreciate life," John said calmly. "I despise people who break agreements. Whether it's a game or life itself, rules should be honored."
"You're much more talkative than last time."
"When you face death and then step back from the edge, words carry more weight than blood," John said quietly. "Those patients in the hospital—they pray, they break down, they despair, they bargain just to stay alive. In that moment, I understood: the living fear truth more than the dead do."
"So you want to continue treatment?"
"Of course."
Ethan nodded, stood up, and pulled on a fresh pair of gloves.
His chest tightened slightly, and his fingers trembled. Yes, he was actually trembling.
The elderly patient sitting before him radiated something that triggered primal fear.
Not the aura of violence or aggression—but of absolute control.
A man who had designed countless death traps, who even with one breath remaining could send chills down your spine.
John Kramer had been the Rayne Clinic's very first patient.
That day, not long after the sign had been hung, he'd pushed open the door, and the first words out of his mouth were:
"Dr. Rayne, I want to play a game with you."
Ethan hadn't reacted immediately, but when he recognized him as John Kramer—the Jigsaw Killer—he'd frozen solid.
John had worn a smile on his face—not threatening, but evaluating, as if weighing whether a person was "worthy of continued life."
Ethan had managed to say, "I don't play games. I only heal people."
John had told him about the late-stage glioblastoma, about being scammed by charlatans peddling "alternative cancer cocktails." He didn't say what had happened to those people afterward, but Ethan could probably guess.
When John had seen the words on the clinic sign—Healing Beyond Medicine—he'd decided to come inside and see for himself.
To see if this was another fraud, or if there truly was a miracle waiting.
Ethan had suggested one treatment first, then a follow-up at the hospital for verification.
If effective, then payment.
Simple rules.
John had accepted those terms.
Now, this was the second visit.
John lay down calmly, his gaze fixed on the surgical light overhead. The reflection in his pupils transformed into a ring, like the entrance to some kind of ritual.
Ethan took a deep breath and gently placed his hands on John's chest and the base of his skull.
Closing his eyes, he began to recall the sequence from the previous session.
Power Word: Fortitude—bolsters vitality for an extended duration.
Flash Heal—instantly restores damaged tissue.
Renew—allows life force to flow slowly, repairing and regenerating throughout the body.
Abolish Disease—purges lingering pathology.
The temperature in his palms gradually rose, and the air around them seemed to shimmer.
A soft golden radiance spread between his fingers, seeping into John's body.
The rhythm of blood flow synchronized with his heartbeat, as if the entire world was breathing in unison.
Just a few minutes later, Ethan's forehead was covered in fine beads of sweat.
He lowered his voice. "Almost there..."
The light slowly receded.
He released his hands and exhaled deeply.
John sat up quietly.
His complexion was rosier than when he'd arrived, and his eyes showed a long-lost clarity and sharpness.
"How do you feel?" Ethan asked.
John pressed his lips together, his voice low. "My head... doesn't feel like it's being crushed in a vise anymore.
This time, I'm certain—it's significantly more effective than the last session."
He paused, his gaze deepening.
"Doctor, you make me consider a question."
Ethan looked at him. "What question?"
"If a person possesses the ability to save others," John said slowly,
"does he also have the right to decide—who should be saved?"
Ethan was quiet for a moment, then replied, "I'm not a judge."
"But you determine who returns from death's door."
"I don't determine anything." He shook his head. "I just treat whoever walks through that door."
A barely perceptible smile crossed John's lips. "Then I am truly fortunate."
The air grew still, with only the soft beeping of equipment indicators.
Ethan said nothing more.
He stripped off his gloves, walked behind the counter, and quietly began cleaning the operating area.
John stood and adjusted his coat.
"Thank you, Doctor," he said. "I don't fear death.
But you've given me more time—to save those who are alive, yet already dead inside."
The door chime rang softly as John Kramer left.
Ethan stood beneath the light, watching that figure disappear down the street.
After a long moment, he picked up the check and gave a rueful smile.
"My most dangerous patient... Is it too late to convert this place into a veterinary clinic?"
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