Chapter Text
Ilya woke up with what felt like the worst hangover of his life. His brain was pulsing against his skull, and spots flooded his vision when he opened his eyes. His mouth was dry, but his skin was tacky with dried sweat.
He couldn't see much in front of him, but a nearby metallic sound suggested he was in a large, mostly empty room.
Tight leather bands held his wrists, ankles, and torso in place when he tried to stand. His head was also restrained, but he couldn't tell exactly how.
He tried to swallow what little saliva he could produce as his brain was finally catching up to the situation at hand. Someone had taken him—probably after a game, but he wasn't sure —and strapped him into this chair. For what reason? His mind could supply a few creative ones, but that did nothing to quell his panic.
Something was in his right hand. He rubbed his fingers across it as far as the wrist straps would allow in order to figure out what it was without any light. It had buttons along the side and tiny holes on the front for a speaker. It had been forever since he held a cassette player.
With few options, he pressed play. The tape whirred to life, and a modulated voice began to speak.
"Hello, Ilya.
I want to play a game."
Ilya stopped breathing. He had heard this line before on the news. There was a serial killer in New England that claimed to test and rehabilitate his victims after they commit what he considered a crime or moral sin. None of the full audio clips had been released to the public, but it was common knowledge that Jigsaw would put his victims through sick and twisted "games" in order to reach his goal of correcting their behavior.
Now, it seemed it was Ilya's turn.
"All your life, you've been lying about how you feel to protect the scared little boy you never grew out of being.
"You lie to the press, the public, and most of all—to yourself. You ignore the truth to avoid feeling pain, but what about the pain your lies cause others?"
Ilya knew it was probably best not to move before he could figure out what Jigsaw wanted from him, but he couldn't help squirming in an attempt to get out of the straps. He had to, if it was even possible, beat this game and live. He wanted to see Shane at the All-Star Game, even if it was just from afar. He had hoped to hide how much he wanted to play alongside him, but he doubted with his injuries from this "game" that he would be able to play, let alone travel to Florida to watch in person.
The audio paused as a light turned on directly above him, allowing him to see the assortment of weapons surrounding his chair. He couldn't see much from how he was pinned, but what he could see left nothing to the imagination. Knives of various sizes as well as rusty needles, a mallet, and a small pistol were attached to levers at different levels of his body.
His eyes adjusted to the light enough to see another ceiling fixture turn on about 3 meters in front of him, illuminating a man in what looked to be the same chair with the same weapons as him. Encasing a circle around the man's chair was what looked like a giant golden birdcage.
The man had a strong build and dark hair and was dressed in athletic gear as if he had just been in the gym. The sweat patterns on his shirt hinted at heavy exertion, not a regular workout, with sweat droplets dripping from his hair onto his lap. His skin looked sickly and pale despite the signs that he was typically tan and freckled.
The man lifted his head to look at Ilya with a dazed sort of look Ilya was normally proud of when he put it there himself. Now, it made his stomach turn.
"Before you is a man you know well—a man you have lied to many times to protect yourself. There are questions he is dying to ask you," the voice continued.
Ilya had to swallow his bile to keep from choking on it. He would rather do anything else but this. It was one thing when just he was trapped. He would try his best, but if he failed, who would care?
He resolved to do whatever was necessary to let Shane Hollander walk out of here alive.
"In order to free yourself from your self-inflicted chains, you must answer his questions truthfully. Lying may save your skin, but you may find that lying will hurt you more in the end.
"You will have 30 minutes to answer his questions, and the polygraph test you are hooked up to will help determine your degree of truthfulness."
His breathing was coming too fast now. He wished he could feel his mother's necklace under the leather neck strap, but it seemed Jigsaw confiscated it. A part of him is glad she is not present to witness this. Questions, the challenge didn't seem insurmountable. He could do this.
"Avoiding the topic will only bring you pain, so you must ask yourself: Are you willing to bare your soul, or will you die guarding your heart?
"Live or die, Ilya Rozanov. Make your choice."
Ilya took in the now-lit room. Only parts of mannequins and machinery accompanied them in this room. A digital clock illuminated to his right, starting a timer counting down from 30 minutes.
"Hollander!" His voice echoed off the walls, but Shane only twitched at the noise.
"Shane! You need to wake up. Fuck, you need to—to ask me questions? I will answer, okay? I will; I promise. But you need to wake up so you can ask." He tried to ignore the instinctual shame that heard his voice tremble as he spoke.
Shane stirred, but less so from Ilya's words and more from the buzzer that rang out after Ilya spoke. Ilya looked down to a strap at his elbow that led to a table with he recognized from TV as a polygraph test. It had determined that some part of what he said was a lie, and he had used up what he assumed was his one free pass.
He kept his wording simple to avoid setting it off. "Shane? Can you hear me?"
Shane blinked as he adjusted to the light, whining a bit at the headache Ilya would guess was a symptom similar to his from whatever drugs were used to get them both to this place.
"Ilya? What's going on?"
Ilya had no idea if these questions counted as part of the game, but he was taking no risks. "Yes, I am Ilya. I think we are in one of Jigsaw's games. We have to play the game to leave safely."
Shane's eyebrows scrunched, probably due to his weird phrasing, but he looked like he was thinking hard as he glanced around his cage. "There's a paper here. It has questions on it. I think that's the game? I heard a voice earlier, but I can't remember it clearly."
Ilya tried to contain himself. "Yes! Yes, you need to ask me those questions. Then, we can leave…I'm pretty sure." Maybe hedging his answers would allow for some leeway on what counted as honesty. A part of him, of course, wanted them to live, but the truth was not so cut and dry.
Shane seemed to shake himself out of his daze enough to focus on the paper and read the questions. "There's rules at the top. I guess I have to read those first?"
He appeared to ask the room, but with no input from their likely audience, Ilya answered. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea."
Shane took a deep breath, enuciating carefully, "The first question will be used to calibrate the machine you are both attached to, representing the truth behind your mirror image held by the media. Number one, what is your name?"
"Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov."
The polygraph scritched and scratched on its table behind a bright sounding 'ding' signaled he told the truth. Ilya sighed in relief before a spring engaged on the chair and a straight razor shallowly sliced his left bicep.
Ilya gasped at the sudden pain, and Shane shouted, "But you told the truth! That—why did it do that? I don't understand."
Blood trickled and pooled at the elbow strap on that arm. Ilya winced as he inadertantly flexed the muscle. He had to think; all he had to do was answer the questions truthfully, didn't he? Why was he being punished for the truth?
He looked over at Shane's worried face. "I don't know, but we have to keep going. Please, Hollander."
Shane wanted to protest, Ilya knew, but he obeyed. "Number two, what is the name of the man sitting across from you?"
"Shane Hollander." Another 'ding' sounded, and Ilya was jabbed with a needle in his right thigh. Fortunately, it was empty of any obvious substances.
Ilya grunted at the intrusion but nodded at Shane to continue.
"The third question will serve as your first test. Number three, who is the man sitting across from you in relation to you?"
Ilya knew what he wanted Shane to be, but what was the truth? Currently, they weren't anything, but that didn't feel right. They had history, even if Shane was with Rose now and Ilya suffered in silence. Ilya tried to stick to the facts.
"My rival in the MLH." The buzzer from earlier blared an low sound. His answer was not good enough, apparently.
Ilya closed his eyes and braced for impact. He heard the gears shifting, but nothing touched him. Instead, he heard Shane hiss a breath.
He looked over to find that Shane now had a cut to match his on his left bicep.