17 years after the death of Jigsaw, as well as both of my parents, I work at a restaurant as a waitress. One night, I head home, where there’s nothing to extravagant. There’s a few pictures of my parents, and my late younger brother, as well as a few pictures of my foster parents. An hour after my arrival, I’m dressed in jeans and a red t-shirt, with a pig on it. There’s a knock on my door, and I get off my couch, and answer it. “Hello?”