- "“I sought refuge the other day, from yet another creature. I did not pay attention to my surroundings and did not take notice of the place where I ended up. A place of death. Not death in the sense that I am accustomed to, but a place designed for death. A place where living things are meant to go to slaughter: an abattoir. I remember the smell from my childhood days, and that very same smell caught my senses as I stumbled across a floor that was flooded with debris and old tools of death. The smell of rust, blood and fear was so familiar. I longed to flee the area, to return to the campfire that I both despise and love. But that thing was still out there, I had to make use of the meat plant’s maze-like features, and flee…yet again. ”"
Gideon Meat Plant
Gideon Meatpacking Plant had long lain derelict before its original designer, John Kramer, moved back in, transforming it into the workshop where he would devise his many games, and the location where those games would play out. Surveillance cameras now cover every angle of the building, reporting the progress of test subjects to a bank of monitors: a grainy testament of life and death. In the workshop, hundreds of carefully-rendered plans hang from every wall. Half-completed machinery litters the worktops, next to the tools that helped create them. Mannequins are everywhere, their blank eyes staring impassively at their dismembered brethren, strapped into test rigs or already destroyed by successful trials. In many ways, the plant is unchanged: it still rings to the sound of buzz saws and sliced flesh; the drains still clog with congealed blood, fat and hair. The building’s occupants have always been dead meat, but now they have a chance at transformation; a chance to emerge back into the world, reborn as something better. And, if they fail? There’s always the drain.
The sickly glow of fluorescent lighting bathes the room where Jigsaw planned out his games. This place is the product of a fevered mind, desperately trying to complete their life’s work, their legacy, before their inevitable end. A place of creation and destruction, from which devices of death and rebirth were produced.
Below is the crucible itself; the location of so many tests and decisions. The smell of fear, blood and death has soaked into the brick walls. The corridors are a maze, disorientating the test subjects as they traverse the game rooms. And, at the heart, a bathroom, reverberating with the rattle of chains on tiles. A door is pulled closed and the room is plunged into darkness.