"The FUCK!"
Jordan and Michael blurted out almost in unison, their popcorn scattering across the floor. The sudden twist had left them dumbfounded, jaws hanging open in disbelief.
Even James Wan, seated a few rows away, felt his skin crawl.
His arms prickled with goosebumps as the scene unfolded, every instinct telling him he had just witnessed something genre-defining.
Amanda, Mara's mother, sat frozen in her seat.
For the past two hours, she had endured the gore, the shouting, the claustrophobic tension, all the while consoling her daughter during the most brutal moments.
But this—this revelation—robbed her even of the ability to react.
The "corpse," the one that had been lying lifeless in the middle of the bathroom floor since the very beginning of the film, slowly rose to its feet.
Two hours. Two damn whole hours the body had lain there.
And now, with trembling legs but terrifying resolve, the truth came out.
He wasn't a victim at all. He was the mastermind. He was Jigsaw. He was John Kramer.
The audience gasped as the puzzle pieces snapped together.
And explanation was given, turn out John Kramer is once a cancer patient given no more than months to live, had turned his terminal illness into a crusade.
And Gordon, is the doctor treating him, had dismissed him as another case, another number on his hospital charts.
While Adam, a struggling photographer, had been hired to spy on Gordon's infidelity, peering into lives not his own like a parasite.
Jigsaw's philosophy was clear now.
Adam's voyeurism, his wasted potential, his failure to appreciate the gift of life—all of it marked him as a candidate for the game.
The sick truth landed like a punch: the key to Adam's chains had been there all along.
It had slipped down the bathtub drain in the very first scene, lost the moment Adam woke up and unplugged the water.
The irony was cruel, merciless, and absolute.
Furious, Adam lunged at Kramer, grabbing the revolver off the ground and aiming it at him with shaking hands.
But before he could pull the trigger, John revealed one last cruel twist.
With a flick of a hidden remote, a surge of electricity tore through Adam's chains.
He screamed, his body convulsing violently before collapsing in agony.
"Most people are ungrateful for their lives," John said, his voice steady and chilling, every word carrying the weight of his twisted philosophy.
He walked closer, then crouched down beside Adam, his gaze cold and unwavering.
"Human life can be short," he continued, his tone almost like a teacher delivering a final lesson. "You have to make it worthwhile. But for you… it's too late."
With that, John rose. Fueled not by strength but by conviction, he dragged his frail body toward the exit.
"Game over."
The heavy metal door slammed shut with a deafening finality, plunging the room into darkness.
Darkness swallowed Adam's pleas, leaving him to rot alone in the bathroom—a tomb for the ungrateful.
The theater was dead silent.
Robert McKee, usually a fortress of composure, found his eyes wide with a rare flicker of awe. "Brilliant," he whispered, almost involuntarily.
He had caught the essence immediately. This wasn't just torture porn—it was a meditation on mortality, morality, and the raw instinct to survive. It was an interrogation of what it truly means to value life.
Jigsaw's worldview was brutal, but his logic was terrifyingly consistent: only by dragging people to the edge of death could he force them to recognize the worth of living.
For McKee, the message was unmistakable. "Now I can give that young man an eighty," he admitted quietly, nodding to Ebert. "This is more than spectacle—it's philosophy in blood."
Roger Ebert chuckled knowingly, sipping from his drink. "Don't get comfortable. It's not over yet."
McKee turned to him, frowning. "Not over? That's absurd. It's complete. You can't drag this further. To extend it now would ruin the symmetry. Points must be deducted if he does."
For McKee, the bathroom door slam was the ending.
To add anything more risked imbalance. "He's just young," McKee muttered, shaking his head. "Too ambitious, still afraid to let go. Wants everything at once."
But before he could finish his thought, the screen lit up again.
The audience stirred, realizing this wasn't the credits.
An Easter egg.
The hidden treat wasn't just filler—it was the secret reason hardcore fans of Jihoon's growing Horror Cinematic Universe had flocked to the premiere in droves.
The film alone was worth the ticket price, but the whispers of something more, something tying 'SAW' back to 'GET OUT' and beyond, was the true lure.
And now, as the first frames of the bonus sequence appeared, the theater erupted in a mix of gasps and cheers.
At this moment, the hidden Easter egg sequence begins.
Dismissed Detective Tapp, despite his failures and injuries, refuses to give up.
He remains convinced that Dr. Gordon is the true mastermind behind the killings.
And here, Jihoon's version begins to deviate from the original film.
In the original story, Tapp, while surveilling Gordon's home, discovers that hospital orderly Zepp has kidnapped Gordon's wife and daughter.
He attempts to intervene but is tragically shot and killed in the process.
But Jihoon employs a clever narrative trick.
In this version, Tapp, after carefully re-examining the clues he once discovered at Jigsaw's hideout, Tapp begins to see a larger pattern.
This isn't simply about Gordon anymore. It's Jigsaw's new design—a Survival Game.
Following these clues, Tapp eventually tracks down the location: an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city.
Inside it, he makes his way through the dimly lit corridors until he finally arrives at a heavy iron door.
With cautious hands, he pushes it open.
What he sees freezes him in place.
Two decomposing bodies lie sprawled across the grimy bathroom floor.
Zepp.
Adam.
Their corpses, long rotted, tell a silent story of deaths that happened far in the past.
The audience, still unaware of the twist, leans in closer.
Robert McKee, sitting among them, suddenly jerks forward in his seat, his expression horrified.
"Double twist! A cross-narrative trick!" he blurts out, unable to contain himself.
Judging from the state of decay, these men had been dead for months. But hadn't Tapp only recently been investigating Gordon?
"Wait…" McKee mutters, his mind racing. He remembers something crucial—when Tapp interrogated Gordon earlier, Gordon walked with a pronounced limp.
The realization crashes into him like a revelation.
At this moment, the Easter egg plot presses forward.
In the darkness of the factory, two figures emerge from the shadows.
Their faces are obscured, their movements deliberate.
Before Tapp can react, the woman among them steps forward with startling speed.
She grabs him from behind, pressing a cloth firmly over his mouth and nose.
He struggles, thrashing for a few desperate seconds. Then his body goes limp.
A shaft of light spills across the woman's face.
Amanda.
Robert McKee's jaw drops.
"Amanda!"
The audience gasps with him.
According to Tapp's earlier investigation, Amanda was supposed to be Jigsaw's third victim—the only one to survive her test.
But here she was again.
And then, before anyone could make sense of it, another figure limps out of the shadows.
Dr. Gordon.
The truth begins to unravel.
"Survival Game" isn't some new trap Jigsaw created in secret.
It's an old one.
A trial that has already been completed.
The second major twist is revealed: Jigsaw's game isn't simply about killing. It's about transforming.
Those who endure, who awaken to the value of life through suffering and pain, are reborn as his disciples. They don't just survive—they follow him.
Amanda was the first to pass the test. Gordon, the second.
Robert McKee's thoughts tumble ahead of him, desperate to keep pace with the narrative.
"Then what about Adam?" he whispers.
The answer is cruelly simple.
Adam, the voyeur photographer, had disrespected others' lives by peering into their private worlds. He was chosen for "punitive education."
When his key was washed away, Adam still had the hand saw.
Like Gordon, he could have chosen to mutilate himself, to sacrifice in order to live. But he didn't.
Instead, he picked up the pistol.
That decision sealed his fate.
McKee recalls Jigsaw's chilling words to Adam: "Most people are ungrateful for their lives."
In Jigsaw's eyes, Adam's desperation wasn't enlightenment.
It was resignation—an unwillingness to truly change.
He hadn't awakened, and so he was denied the chance to join.
"Yes!" McKee suddenly exclaims, unable to hold back.
"It's not just about survival—it's about discipleship! Jigsaw isn't a killer. He's a godlike figure who coldly judges humanity. Only those who truly awaken are chosen to follow him… to 'save the world.'"
His excitement builds as he speaks, swept away by the elegance of Jihoon's narrative construction.
This wasn't just another horror movie. It was something grander—philosophical, layered, almost spiritual in its cruelty.
On the surface, 'SAW' might appear to be nothing more than a high-concept escape room thriller.
But Jihoon's version reveals its deeper core.
An elderly man, dying of cancer, turns his bitterness into a twisted philosophy: forcing the immoral, the ungrateful, and the self-destructive into meticulously designed games that strip them bare.
Through agony, they either find redemption or perish.
The plot is impeccable. The atmosphere is suffocating. The twists are both plausible and shocking.
It isn't just horror. It's revelation.
"This got to be the best horror film of the 21st century!" McKee declares, his voice trembling with exhilaration.
After all, it's only 2008. Such a title isn't an exaggeration.
Turning to his friend, Roger, McKee can't contain his enthusiasm any longer.
"Roger, this Saw is a new horror classic! I'm giving it a ninety—no hesitation!"
Unlike most horror films, which rely heavily on cheap scares and buckets of blood, this film handled violence with restraint.
The gore wasn't gratuitous; it wasn't handed out freely.
Instead, every drop of blood carried its own meaning, every act of violence served a purpose in the story.
This drew the audience in, making them want to decipher each scene rather than simply recoil from it.
That was what he loved most—because as a renowned author, perhaps out of habit, he tended to approach films differently.
He liked to peer into the mind of the creator, to untangle the design behind the madness.
For him, it was like working through a crossword puzzle, each detail another clue waiting to be solved.
Cause to him, 'SAW' wasn't about shock value—it was about psychological terror.
With its intricate narrative structure, its haunting reflections on life and death, and its unrelenting psychological pressure, it carved out a bold new path for modern horror cinema.
As for Roger.
His sitting beside him with his furrowed brow. His expression was one of slight confusion, not awe.
Cause compare to 'GET OUT' this Easter egg wasn't what he had expected at all. He had anticipated something more out of line compared with Hollywood convention tricks.
Before his thoughts could settle, the post-film scene abruptly cut to black.
The Easter egg had ended.
The audience, stunned by what they had just witnessed, suddenly erupted in thunderous applause.
The cheers and clapping were so loud they seemed to shake the very rafters of the theater.
Yet, when the roar of the audience finally quieted, a strange silence settled in.
People shifted in their seats, looking around in confusion.
Why hadn't the lights come on yet?
Wasn't the movie over?
Instead of the house lights rising, a dense array of credits began to crawl slowly across the massive screen.
Names of producers, set designers, camera assistants, costume artists—every member of the behind-the-scenes crew appeared in white letters against the black backdrop.
Leonardo, seated a few rows behind, leaned toward Jihoon with curiosity written all over his face.
"Lee, aren't you going up to say something? The film's over, right?"
Jihoon didn't move.
He sat steady, calm, as if he had already anticipated this reaction.
A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Don't worry," he said with quiet confidence. "The movie isn't over yet. There's still more—after the credits."
"Huh?" Leonardo blinked, bewildered.