Plundering Everything I Want

"I can feel it... It's good to be young."

Betsy's voice was full of lustful longing.

'It seems that perfume is even more potent than I thought... But if that's the case, I can push things a little further.'

With that thought, he leaned in closer and whispered in a seductive voice.

"You're not old at all, Betsy. To me, you're absolutely stunning. I've always had a thing for older women. You might not believe this, but I've got a problem—a condition. It's called sex addiction. I need to get off every day. I used to handle it on my own, but when I saw you... I couldn't help myself."

Then pretending to be guilty, he added, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

Of course, Tristan was spewing a bunch of bullshit. But that didn't matter. He was banking on Betsy's sympathy and the effect of Essence of Earnest Grace—as long as she believed him at the start, the truth wouldn't matter once things got heated. After all, once he fucked her and the Ecstasy Heart Sutra took over, would she even want to leave?

Smirking inwardly but feigning embarrassment on the outside, he reluctantly let go of her, sitting back on the sofa with an apologetic look.

Classic strategy: play hard to get.

Betsy, as seen in the movies, was a somewhat dumb and kind-hearted woman running a clinic for recovering addicts. Despite her own troubles, she was determined to help others, even in the late stages of pregnancy.

She had a soft spot for people in need, and Tristan was betting on that.

Sure enough, Betsy's expression shifted to one of interest when he mentioned his "addiction." Though it was sex, not drugs, she didn't seem phased.

She'd dealt with all kinds of addicts in her time. What was a sex addiction compared to the horrors she'd seen? Hell, there was an old woman in her eighties, back in the UK, who needed sex every day or she'd get physically uncomfortable.

Addictions came in all forms. Betsy knew that.

"Can your body handle that kind of intensity?"

Betsy asked softly, in a curious voice, as she perched on the sofa's armrest. Her fingers trailed through Tristan's hair in an intimate way. "Don't worry, you can trust me. I'm here to help. If you need advice or just someone to listen to, I'm here."

Tristan nodded.

"Yeah, I can handle it. I'm in pretty good shape. I work out every day, but my desire... it's overwhelming. Every single day, I feel like I'm ready to burst. If I'm around a woman as gorgeous as you, I might have to excuse myself to take care of it. You're just too sexy... Look, its getting hard again."

He shamelessly pointed to the bulge on his pants, and Betsy swallowed as she followed his gaze. Subconsciously, her hand reached out and touched Tristan's crotch.

"It's really big… Ahem… Don't worry, it's nothing to be ashamed of. As long as your body can keep up, you should let it out when you need to. Don't hold back."

She looked up and asked curiously. "How long have you been dealing with this?"

"I've been like this since I was fifteen. I have to masturbate at least twice a day. Madam... maybe you could help me." Suddenly, Tristan reached out, and his hand moved boldly under her blouse, his fingers caressing Betsy's breasts with surprising confidence. "You have an incredible body."

The audacity of his touch caught her off guard, and Betsy's body stiffened. She had allowed some flirtation and the hug—things that could be passed off as casual affection in today's more open society. But this... this was too much.

Despite the trust and subtle longing she felt towards Tristan, his boldness crossed a line. She quickly pushed his hands away, her eyes narrowing with embarrassment, anger, and shock.

"You—!"

However, before she could finish her rebuke, the sharp sound of the doorbell rang through the room.

Dring~

The unexpected interruption cut through the tension like a knife. Betsy took a moment to regain her composure, straightening her clothes as she shot Tristan a glare.

"We'll talk about this later. My ex-husband is here."

She swiftly stood and moved toward the door. As it swung open, a gray-haired man in simple clothes stepped inside, his expression calm. This was John Kramer—the plot's main antagonist and infamous Jigsaw Killer.

"John, there's a police officer looking for you inside." Betsy spoke with a smile, as if nothing had just happened.

She and John were divorced, but there was a quiet understanding between them. John had distanced himself not out of malice but out of depression and to free her from his burden—especially considering he had terminal cancer. Betsy bore no resentment because she knew he did this for her.

Stepping inside, John's eyes flickered across the room filled with his usual confidence. He moved slowly and deliberately, as if he had unlimited time. Sitting down, he asked casually.

"What do you want from me, officer?"

Facing this calculating man, Tristan knew better than to engage in a battle of words. He knew enough about Jigsaw to understand that trying to manipulate him would be futile.

So he decided to be blunt, cutting straight to the point. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial with a shimmering deep blue liquid inside.

"Why the rush? By the way, my name's Tristan... As for you, should I call you John, or the infamous Jigsaw Killer?"

Tristan asked with a sly smile. "But whatever—since it's our first encounter, I've brought you a gift. Something I think you'll appreciate. This is a secret potion that can cure your cancer."

Upon hearing his identity being revealed so casually, John's pupils instantly dilated in shock. The same was true for Betsy. Fortunately, as Tristan continued, John's tension eased. The officer wasn't here to arrest him—he had other intentions.

Still, John feigned ignorance.

"Is this some kind of joke, officer?"

"Not officer. In reality, I am a hunter who was hired by the police to investigate your case, which I did. But let's be honest, we both know how corrupt the American judicial system is. I have no interest in working for those crooks. Just keep doing what you do."

Tristan took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a puff.

"Ah, sorry, I forgot, no smoking here."

Though he said this, he continued smoking.

Paying no attention to Tristan's antics, John turned his gaze to the small glass vial on the table, picked it up, and examined it carefully. He had also studied pharmacology and knew that cancer in this world was basically untreatable.

He highly doubted the authenticity of Tristan's words, suspecting that Tristan might have other intentions for coming here, and believed that this vial was intended to disrupt his state of mind and shift the conversation in Tristan's favor.

But Jigsaw wasn't one to be rattled easily. He didn't take the bait. Instead of focusing on the vial, he redirected the conversation with a probing question.

"You use big words, Hunter Tristan. Do you even understand what cancer is? Do you know the true meaning of life?"

This wasn't just a question—it was a test. Jigsaw's philosophy was clear: if Tristan valued life, he might earn some respect. But if he was indifferent or cruel, well... then he'd have to play a game. Win, and you walk free. Lose, and you die.

Having seen the "Saw" movies, Tristan understood this line of questioning all too well. He knew Jigsaw's mentality better than the man himself.

Therefore, instead of answering immediately, he took his time and took another puff of his cigarette, inhaling deeply before snuffing it out. Then, without a word, Tristan stood up and casually walked over to the wall. His eyes locked on the structure in front of him.

With no warning, he clenched his fist and swung with all his might.

Bang!

His punch hit the wall with a force approximately six to seven times that of a strong adult male's, causing a violent tremor to shake the structure and reverberate through the room like a gunshot. Dust and fragments of drywall exploded outward, forming a cloud around his arm. A jagged hole, larger than a basketball, appeared in the wall where his punch had connected.

Cracks spidered out in all directions, crawling across the wall's surface like veins.

Soon, Tristan pulled his hand back, and bits of drywall crumbled from his knuckles as he flexed his fingers, unscathed.

Sadly, the wall wasn't so lucky. Behind the hole, the wooden stud was completely splintered, with a deep fracture extending through its core.

Barely glancing at the destruction he'd caused, Tristan smirked, wiped the dust from his knuckles on his jacket, and looked at John and Betsy.

If Tristan revealing John's identity had shocked them earlier, this time, his display of power left them in disbelief, questioning reality.

They were dumbfounded. After all, this was just a normal world that followed the rules of a simple, modern society. Even the main antagonist, Jigsaw, was an ordinary man.

Where had he seen such a superhuman who could punch a hole in the wall casually and still look unscathed?

However, Tristan paid no attention to their shock. He had made his point. Calmly, he returned to his seat, wiping the dust from his jacket as if nothing unusual had happened. Then, with a smirk, he finally responded to Jigsaw's test.

"Now, what were you asking again?"