(feat. artwork by Enduring Inferno, posted with permission) The sound of the chains and gear clinking and grinding filled the dark room. “Uggghhhh….uhhhgghhhhh….” Barret groaned as his arms and legs were stretched even tighter. His shoulders and groin burned, his limbs trembling as the chains strained them further from his core. There was a loud thunk as his tormentor hit the switch on the control panel, stopping the hydraulics. “That’s far enough for now. Don’t want you to strain anything…yet.” Barrett didn’t know the man’s name. He was a muscular Australian, sporting a Mohawk and rat tail down his neck and constantly holding a lit cigarette in his mouth. Barrett just took to calling him “Mohawk.” Mohawk gestured toward his pal, Cueball, who handed over a syringe. “Speaking of straining things, do you know what this is?” Mohawk asked casually. When Barrett didn’t reply, he waved the syringe back and forth. “It’s a special formula our lab boys cooked up: Tri-Mix, Viag...