Yakuza revenge

A retelling of the electro-torture scene in the movie Showdown in Little Tokyo

A rendsz’ world story1. Igor 22. Professional rivalry 43. Shocked 64. Jolt 85. Powerless 106. Overpowered 137. Fried 158. Threat 179. Vitals 1810. Blistering 2011. Responsibility 2212. THE END. 23

Yakuza revenge

1. Igor

He rarely showed emotion. But deep down, a swell of satisfaction swept over Ashawi when he took the message. They were bringing the Russian in. He snapped the mobile closed and ordered his men to bring the other one up from the basement.“Get him ready. You’ve got ten minutes!”

Igor was no light sleeper. So when he woke, he knew something was up. A break-in perhaps? He lay listening, ears pricked. But only silence. And silence always unnerved him. But he hadn’t got to his gun when the door crashed in. Men knocked him to the ground. He was bigger than any of the Japanese but the semi-automatic pressed into the mound behind his ear kept his naked body pinned to the ground.

The van twisted and turned. Lying on the cold metal floor, Igor would never had been able tell where they were going. They’d let him get a pair of boxers on before shoving him at gunpoint into the waiting van. Arms and legs spread out in a V-shape as they ordered, guns covering him, Igor shivered against the cold metal floor and rapidly went through the options:This was a rival faction.Ashawi had taken control of the gang.His cover was blown

It was a chilly night. He was nearly buck-naked and shivered in the cold air, with the chill seeping into him from the floor underneath and an icy sense of trepidation. He’d have to think on his feet when he worked out what was going on. And fast.And he’d have to get this shivering under control. Sounding defiant while your teeth were chattering with the cold did not go together.

The van doors swung open. Ordered out. Covered by their guns, he was gestured across the dark abandoned warehouse floor towards the dim light in the corner. Dimly Igor took in figures there. Central, under the light, that Ashawi. As he’d suspected. He’d have to be part of this. The air was cold – almost raw – as, shoving him, they crossed over towards the man he’d always wound up trying to get him riled. Igor – almost naked – struggled not to shiver, to stop his teeth from chattering. Putting on a brave face in front of Ashawi

As he got closer, Igor spotted Sammy watching his arrival with surprise, also taken prisoner. Things seemed to be stacking up - shit, their cover was blown.“What is it now, Ashawi?” he questioned with disdain. Ashawi watched him icily, as always. “Shut up, pig. It is you who has some answering to do”.

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Close up, in the dimmed shadows, Igor could see Sammy stripped to the waist was tied to some kind of frame. His wrists pinned up above his shoulders, in leather straps. Sammy was watching him intently, realising too that with both of them there, it meant that their number was up. They been betrayed – both of them. With no chance of getting the word out. No rescue.

The gang members pushed Igor to a second frame tilted at an angle. He shoved them off. And angrily strode to Ashawi determined to have it out with him. The familiar metallic clunk stopped him. Igor’s eyes followed the sound. A revolver cocked to Sammy’s head. Igor stopped. And trapped he had to let himself be pulled over to the frame.Lightning fast, they had his feet strapped in. At the same time, others were strapping his left wrist in a cuff up by his head. His eyes adjusting now to the dim light, Igor suddenly spotted the wires attached to Sammy’s chest. His eyes followed them down – to the truck batteries down on the floor.

Shit, that was their plan. Electro-torture. Suddenly regretting his compliance to save Sammy, Igor fought to get his right hand free.

He struck out and landed a punch at a Yakuza member and reached out to release his other hand. But they were too many. Quickly overpowered and his hand forced back for cuffing, Igor bounced his body off the frame, rocked, struggled and squirmed to free himself. But the cuff was on. And a belt fastened over his hips to secure him on the grid,. He was strapped in,

just like Sammy. And going nowhere.

All the time, through his struggles for freedom, Ashawi stood unmoved, passive. Watching. Waiting. Infinitely patient to get what he wanted. Knowing his time had come at last.

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2. Professional rivalrySammy watched the arrival of his beefy partner with trepidation. Earlier in the basement, he had wondered at his capture, what it could mean. But with both of them there, it could only be one thing. Despite all the checks and balances, all the smoke-screens, secret drops and careful planning, they fallen into the hands of their enemies. Their undercover operation was blown. Presumably no one else knew

they were here. And the Yakuza knew they’d got two undercover cops working to shut them down.

Sammy lay stock-still with the gun pressed into his skull. His face betrayed nothing. He had no doubts they’d have shot him if necessary. But now, with both of them strapped up, with both of them wired up to the battery below – shit, they had no chance. Perhaps a bullet in the head would have been the easy answer.

Nerves getting to him, Sammy wanted to tell Igor to shut it. Relations between Ashawi and Igor had always been bad. The animosity when both were in the same room could be cut with a knife. Igor had explained it was part of the act. But for Christ’s sake, who had the upper hand here, thought Sammy in desperation at his partner mouthing off?

Ashawi hated Igor with a ferocity that was palpable. But Igor had gone on taunting him. Accusing him of jealousy. Because the Russian was bringing in a whole new market. Was offering to make a killing on the eastern seaboard of Russia. Had brought the Yakuza an enormous market opportunity. And accusing Ashawi of behaving like some xenophobic Japanese racist. Resenting the fact that outsiders could be useful, rise to the top. Accusing Ashawi to the bosses of putting his racism before good business sense.

And even now, cuffed to this frame, Igor couldn’t shut it. Couldn’t use his head. All balls, no brains. For shit’s sake, shut up, thought Sammy. He willed his partner to stop provoking Ashawi. But the big Russian had a head of steam behind him. On and on her prattled, spitting out his insults. For shit’s sake, had he forgotten they were wired up to a truck battery for a reason? Ashawi was going to fry them!

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Ashawi’s posture throughout the derisory tirade was unnerving. His face featureless. Concentrated, attentive, hands in pockets. Impassively listening as the Russian taunted on. His eyes fixed unblinking on Igor’s face. As insults floated passed.

Eventually even Igor began to run out of steam. A quick glance down at his chest. The electrodes trailing down to the transformer by his side. He hesitated in his tirade to swallow a quick gulp.

“Said enough, shitface?” asked Ashawi. The opposite of Igor. Quiet. Controlled. Menacing. A steely edge to his voice. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit, cop. Let’s see you talk your way out of this”.

Sammy was terror-struck by the sudden ferocity. One second, Igor lay there taunting. The next his chest shot up arching into the air. Then his head crashed back with a thud on the grill. Again his neck shot forward, his head taking off into space. Locked in a spasm of pain.

Sammy watched shocked. His big partner turned into a stone statue. Every muscle defined, as if carved in marble. Every sinew rock hard. Petrified. Suspended in time and space. Held back by the straps. A scream frozen in silence. The intensity gave way to miniscule spasms of the head. Skin quivered lightning fast.

A sudden jerk and a shriek exploded out of Igor’s throat, vomited into the air, thudded into the ceiling above. A blood-curdling screech exploded up from the bowels of his being, shredding chest, lacerating lungs, seemingly ripping throat tissue apart.

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3. Shocked

Igor collapsed back on the grill. But still he shuddered with the pain. His head was jerked violently from side to side. His chest had exploded in violent spasms. And still that ear-grating scream that had been ripped out of his throat seemed to sizzle in the cold air. The current was off. But savage tremors viciously scythed through his flesh. The pain reverberated through his body, surged into his brain.Sammy watched in horror. Igor lay suddenly bathed in sweat. Trickles glistened over his pounding stomach. His face shone reflecting the lights. He panted heavily, each breath voiced with unstoppable groans.

It had lasted only seconds. But what a terrifying reaction. Sammy could only guess at the pain. He thought his bladder would burst. He had just witnessed with his own eyes the predicament they were in. Why doesn’t he stop groaning, Sammy thought? God, me next.

And Ashawi just stood there. Unmoved. His face emotionless. As if he had not just witnessed a rival tortured in the most excruciating pain. Relaxed, hands still shoved in his suit pockets. No reaction.Terrified, Sammy observed Ashawi’s coldness. It spoke mountains. How could someone watch such agony, such torture, such suffering close-up - and not flinch? Not show the first sign of a feeling? Not even betray pleasure. The cold bestiality made him shiver.

Ashawi observed the Russian writhing still. He watched his face contorting as tremors of pain still passed through him. He waited patiently watching for the heaving of the stomach muscles to pound less fiercely, till the gasping slowed, the groans less frequent.

He stood watching, waiting his moment. The Russian had to come down from his pinnacle of pain to appreciate his next flight. Ashawi had warned his bosses the Russian was trouble, spelt danger. And now to find out that they were undercover cops! Intent on destroying their world, their business. Hell-bent on crushing the power-base on which Ashawi had built his self-esteem. Threatening his livelihood, his family’s fortunes. The Russian had no compunction in destroying Ashawi’s world. And he too would have no compunction in destroying this Russian traitor. His intensely irritating behaviour and his total lack of respect would give extra meaning to the task of breaking him - before destroying him.

It was risky in the Yakuza to say “I told you so”. But at least, in reward, the bosses had handed the Russian over to him. Ashawi would get him to talk. Make him scream what he knew. He’d make him pay. And Ashawi would make sure the Russian would know every second of the rest of his shortened life. That he was paying for betrayal. That pleasure Ashawi had

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promised himself. That promise he vowed to keep. And this Chink cop would play his part, too. Tricked into letting the Russian take the juice. Making his partner suffer.

“So, big guy, any more of your bullshit for me?”The Russian lay back on the grid, panting, his eyes partly unseeing. The sweat glistened on the rising chest.“That was a quick 15 second burst. Just a quick 15 seconds of juice for you. Feel like finding out what it looks like when it lasts longer?”

Igor threw Ashawi a murderous look. But he tensed in anticipation. His arms locked, knotted. Breath held. Waiting. Tensed.It was Sammy, though, who snapped tight. His body jerked and rammed itself off the grid. Every sinew compacted suddenly, crushed together by an unseen force. His eyes were screwed up tight as lights strobed jarringly through his brain. Tremors shuddered through his arms, his

biceps quivered, juddered out of his control. His chest shook while his body stayed nailed to the bed. Every tissue felt as if ripped apart, every fibre sliced open with searing pain. Sammy screamed.

The current stopped. And Sammy screamed again, his throat released from the grip locking it tight. “Bastard”, he shouted. Invectives poured up from the depths of his being. As if cursing could lessen his pain. Sammy sweated profusely. He hurled hopeless obscenities at the world.

In desperation he spread his hands into savage claws to rip away at the face of his torturer. He spat, he cursed, he emptied his fury and agony into his torturer’s face. Who replied by flicking the dial.

Igor watched helpless. His partner’s body flew off the grid. Savage spasms threw his back up and down off the metal bed. A juddering dance of pain led by someone else. Sammy’s screams seemed endless, ear-piercing. On and on he cried. On and on the violent spasm smashed through him. A power shook, a force rattled him. Battered him. Ripped through

his mind. Pummelled his body.

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4. Jolt

Without warning, Igor took a shot. The jolt riveted him to his bed. His arms bulged and his gripped and pulled at his bonds. Suddenly, with no warning, the bursts of evil power had flicked over to him. His legs knotted yanking at the ankle straps. Paralysed, his chest froze in rising off the grid, his abs turned to stone, marble-like, carved.

Igor clenched his teeth, biting down on his cries, crushing the need to scream. The pain seemed to build up. Slowly it seemed the pain was driving up to a climax. Then suddenly, a jolt. His head rocketed off the grid. His mouth gaped open wide, a silent scream strangled in his throat by agony. The jolt yanked his head forward, the wrists straps held his shoulders back. Jolted, held suspended, riveted, blades of pain jabbed and stabbed him in the neck. Agony sliced open shoulder muscle.

Sammy watched open-eyed. He lay motionless with fear, his body quivering with anxiety for his partner. Igor had slumped back down on the grid. A moment of tense silence. Time stood still. Then Igor’s scream erupted. Vomited into space. Screamed in blind fury and despair. Suddenly cut short. Igor again rocketed forward. An unseen force threw his muscle power in the air off the grid. Chest, arms, abs fully extended, yanked forward. Unwelcome brutal power crashing through every tissue, setting nerves aflame, crushing muscle into agonised cramps.

Then the force slammed Igor back on the frame. His skull thudded onto solid metal. The moment’s silence. Tension. Then again his scream. Drunk with pain. Raw pain. A scream wrenched up from his core.

Forwards, backwards, the force yanked and smashed the helpless Igor on and off the grid. His muscular body a toy, a plaything for a giant hand. Smashed. Beaten. Crushed. Energy ripping pain through

each and every sinew.

Igor’s cry flooded the roof space. His body had been thrown around and pummelled. Tossed in the air. Smashed savagely back on the bed, again and again. Pumped full of electricity, drained of energy. His brain had been sapped, his mind bled dry. He’d been dropped back on the grid with a thud. Then the moment’s silence snapped. His body exploded in a screech of agony that welled up from within, squeezed out of every pore of his being.

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It started deep down the his guts. The pain in every tissue discharged a sharp electric burst into its unsuspecting neighbour. Like burning fuse, collecting energy as it crackled onwards, spitting, hissing, scorching till it burst out at the explosive and detonated in his skull. He screamed no words, just animal-like sounds filled with torment and anguish.

Ashawi observed calculatingly the fear etched into the face of the Chink cop. The agony of the Russian’s torture, his might frame writhing powerlessly. The gut-wrenching scream exploding around the room - sensations and anxieties burning into his Chinese consciousness. Lessons he was learning. Signs of dread that would turn on him in turn, - come to cripple him, torture the Chink cop. Unless he talked.

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5. Powerless

Sammy had long admired Igor. Perhaps even been in awe of his big Russian friend. Not only for his big physical body. Somehow, Igor exuded charisma, that indefinable something that turned every head in the room.

He’d used it to good effect to muscle their way into the Yakuza circles, breaking their way in where no foreigner would otherwise have dared. His bravery was in no doubt. Sometimes it had bordered on fool-hardy. Sammy had often cringed, wished he’d be less mouthy with the Japanese, show more respect for their way of doing things. He’d made enemies, sure. But they had broken right through to the innermost circles. Igor had done it. Igor was certainly a man, in all senses of the word.But the bastards were making him pay for it now. Pay for his betrayal. For not fitting in with their ways. For not showing due respect.

Of course, you couldn’t miss that powerful body. Sammy had never as much seen Igor with his T-shirt off. Though he’d been curious. He’d always wanted a body like Igor’s for himself. Big, broad, built, muscled. But Sammy wasn’t made like that. No matter how many more hours he sweated through heaving weights in the gym, he’d never be an Igor.

You couldn’t miss those big arms, of course, bulging out of Igor’s loose T-shirt. and now ironically here it was all laid bare now for him to admire. Paradoxically his curiosity about how Igor looked was being satisfied. The hefty chest muscles lay rock-hard like carved marble. But solid with tortured tension. The abs, stomach caved in, holding-in tormented breath. A

complete hard 8-pack protruding like some da Vinci statue. But they were tense with anxiety, expectant with fear of more pain. The handsome face that turned every girl’s head in the streets was etched deep with anticipation of worse to come. And that shock of hair that bar-girls never tired of running their fingers through. Now no longer white-blond, quiffed long and casual. Plastered to his skull, dank and darkened by the sweat of pain.

The Russian, Ashawi noted, lay panting hoarsely. Pain still coursed through his body. Sweat trickled down the valley of the broad chest, glistened as his abs pumped for air. He was beginning to recover. Time for Sammy to learn his next lesson.

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Ashawi nodded. The dial turned slowly.. The Russian torso tensed slightly. His breathing was held as the Russian sensed energy passing again into his body. Gradually, very slowly, the power flowed into him. An alien menacing power. Swelling. Growing. Toying with him. Demanding attention. Controlling his actions. Biceps stiffened, - in fear, in anticipation. Hands bunched together into tight fists. Teeth clenched. A groan of anticipation escaped, son to become a deep whine of dread. His collapsed mind again alert and tingling in expectation, recognising the signs. It was starting again. The groan grew, edged with fright, laced with the whine of fear and anxiety.

A juddering started in his head. At first barely perceptible, the head minutely but rapidly being shaken from side to side. The arms were next, tremors in the knotted biceps pulsating out of his control. Hands shuddered, shaken by the force trembling through the trapped shimmering arms. The pain grew and swelled. The power behind the pain. The painful alien power. All around him. All through him.

Igor’s head was being shaken more violently from side-to-side, eyes open but unseeing. Open in shock and bewilderment. His cheeks flapped by the juddering head. Tongue drooling out an open mouth.Igor’s head threatened to explode with pain. His chest shuddered and shook. Pecs shaken, trembled, pounded by unseen punches, punches from

inside. The powerful thigh muscles stood rigid, defined, violent tremors pummelling, juddering. The groan grew. Rose in pitch. Increased in volume.

Igor was powerless to resist, a helpless victim of a powerful alien force. Violent tremors smashed through every inch of his body, stabbed deep into his head. The groaning was continuous, edged with anticipation and fear of the increased pain. Trembled by the shuddering of the chest. His flesh, muscle, tissue, joints - all invaded and assaulted by an unseen malevolent force. Squeezing, crushing, smashing the life force out of him. He was locked in a fit, a paroxysm of excruciating debilitating agony.

The crescendo continued to build. His body was twisted, shaken and contorted on the grid. Pain was pumped into every tissue, stabbed into every muscle. His face convulsed as the deafening roar in his head drowned out all sensations except pain. His vision was distorted as the floods of agony swelled and flooded him out. Muscle torn, lacerated and crushed as fiery waters of torment swelled, scalding, hissing, steaming. A searing pain that melted together in a fire of agony.

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Igor’s shuddering screamed on, accelerating, growing. Driving his body on to its screeching climax. Taut, pulsating muscle, bathed in sweat. Locked in agony. Spit drooling out of his distorted mouth. Slabs of quivering flesh trapped in a never-ending fit of shuddering pain, of juddering agony. It was overwhelming. He screeched like a wounded animal.

Igor was feeling every tremor of pain. The pain levels were consistently high yet constantly shifting. They ebbed and flowed, washing over his body unpredictably, hitting him in so many parts he could not be sure what was hurting at a time. A massive all-encompassing gnawing hurt that pleaded in anguish for a relief that never came. His body vibrated continuously with electric shocks of pain.

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6. Overpowered

Igor lay helpless on the grid, a vortex raging in his head. The world as he knew it crushed, the life squeezed out of it into a single distant pin-point of light. And round about him a swirling tunnel of flashing, strobing glaring colours distorting vision, dis-orientating his mind. A vortex of high pitched screeching swirled around him, deafeningly. Sounds pummelled his brain, thudding, thundering. Needles of laser-light whipped at his raging, naked flesh, biting, stinging.

And in the distance, steadily approaching, that blinding bead of light. Somehow menacing, its approach a threat, threatening to engulf him, swallow him in a fresh orgasm of agony. He was tumbling powerless down a tunnel of pure pain to a pin-point of light – to a destination he knew instinctively he did not wish to reach.

Igor writhed in pain. Sounds seeping from his throat dripped with torment and despair, born of a rage drowned out by futility. His chest squirmed as after-shocks of electrifying pain shot through muscle, ripped up out of injured agonised tissue. He was oblivious to Sammy screaming next to him. He stayed unaware that a flick of a switch had riveted Sammy to his grid, that the power was now jolting pain into Sammy. Igor was being ripped open by waves of needles stabbing him in waves up his thighs through to his brain. Stabbing deep into muscle. Jarring against bare bone. He was deaf to the world. Deaf to his partner’s suffering as Sammy continued to be shaken by a force ripping through his body. The current switched off, agony continued to tear groans of pain from Igor’s chest. Uncontrolled sobs punctuated ragged moans. Lost, out of control, he careened down the vortex of his agony. Uncontrolled. Body whipped by stinging light. Ears deafened by thundering noise.

They kept Sammy hovering on the wrong side of agony. Every fresh sensation of pain, every jolt of juice into muscle he felt. Not for him Igor’s all-pervading ravages of agony when sensation after sensation, when jolt after jolt of pain, crashed and merged into one screaming deluge. Ashawi was keeping Sammy conscious of every single

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invasion of his flesh, every grating of raw nerves, every shattering of his mind.

His back was held riveted to the grid as if magnetised. From shoulder to butt, a steel brush coursed the length of his back in repeated passes. Steel needles raked and scoured flesh and nerves in their downward path. Nerve endings burned and screeched as needles scraped skin from flesh, slowly, deeply. And with each fresh pass, needles brutalised already open wounds, gouged across raw nerves. It was raw pain. Continuous. Heightened. Even released from the shocks, tears were streaming from his eyes. Agony welled up in Sammy from burning gut to gagging throat. Unaware he let go long, high-pitched moans seeping into the chilly air.

Ashawi watched impassively. Both lay back shattered, exhausted. Heads back, eyes unseeing, sweat-soaked. Ashawi was letting the Russian in particular come down from his pinnacle of pain. Ride down in relief. Recovery time. Soon to be taken back up. Slowly. Fully conscious. This time aware of what awaited him as he reached the peak.

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7. Fried

Igor was unaware that the din in his ears was lessening. He was barely conscious of any sensation, his body and mind controlled by outside forces, his spirit oppressed by agony. Every breath he took stabbed him, caused distress. A pain that would not subside. Spinning mindlessly in his vortex, he struggled desperately to reach into the inner recesses of his resolve. He struggled with what strength he could muster against his fears that they were stripping away his spirit and power. His mounting anxiety that he was nearly depleted, he could muster little resistance. That he was lost and alone in his personal world of agony. That there was no way out. In rare lucid moments, he wondered how much more he could take. If he could take any more. But aware he was being offered no choice.

Igor was bounced around in intense confusion and pain, tumbling without control through sharp whipping of laser-lights in his vortex – and then emerged, lost, for occasional brief moments of lucidity. In the brief seconds of respite from the vortex in his head, Igor tried to get a grip on himself. They’d planned for this eventuality, hadn’t they? In case they got accused of being undercover. But shit, what was it? What did they plan? His brain fought to focus despite the spinning and twisting in the vortex. The lashings from the lights. The pounding in his head. He couldn’t think straight. Yes, that was it. Think on his feet. Was that it? Talk your way out. Brazen it out. Whatever, he had never planned on this. To be tortured so brutally. To be weakened so fast he could not think. Tortured till his brain wouldn’t work. His throat so raw from screaming he couldn’t piece two words together. He’d seen what Yakuza gangs did with dealers who tricked them He thought that’s what he’d get. Taken outside and beaten within an inch of his life. Yeah, and it felt like that. But worse. And not one finger had been laid on him.

Sammy heard Ashawi’s voice calling him through a fog. The sweat shimmering on his chest was cooling in the chilly air, bringing him back to some semblance of consciousness beyond raw pain. But Sammy was beyond reaching out to put meaning to Ashawi’s words, his demands for information. Ashawi’s threats that his partner was going to get it if Sammy didn’t talk barely reached Sammy’s brain. He was hearing but did not hear.

Irrelevant whether he’s taking this in, thought Ashawi. He’d listen some time. Main point was, the Chink did not want to go back in there again. That he’d do anything to escape the torture he’d just experienced, avoid more of the agony he had felt. That he’d sacrifice the Russian to save his own skin.He’d break anyway. They’d both break. They always broke.

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The spinning in Igor’s vortex had picked up. He was tumbling head over heels down his tunnel, flesh continuously whipped by flashing lights. An unseen giant hand had reached up into his gut, clawed deep into his innards and dragged him down towards the growing painful glare at the end of the tunnel. The din in his ears pierced his brain like a stake. The flashing strobes of colour whipped at his flesh, stinging, biting deep. Tumbling in the air, spinning wildly down the pounding tunnel of pain, Igor’s out-stretched hands flayed for a hand-hold. A handhold to halt his relentless spinning tumbling towards the flaring circle of menacing light. The claw in his guts dragging him relentlessly towards an end – where he knew instinctively he did not want to be.

The claw had him by the nuts, squeezing tight, crushing him and hauling him inexorably, painfully, towards the menacing exit from the vortex. The hand spun him round and round, dizzyingly, disorientatingly. Faster, wilder, legs and arms flayed out. If he had grabbed a handhold, the force would have ripped his nuts apart. The sound grew. The din rose in

pitch. The pin-point of light accelerated towards him. Grew. Filled his vision. Sounds crescendoed to a teeth-grating screech. Igor raised his hands to shade his eyes. The glare. Flared flame-white pain. He screwed his eyes tight. Clenched his teeth at the tightening grip on his nuts. Set his jaw against the thundering din at the tunnel exit. He spun round and round in confusion. Ears screaming. The nerve-grating screech piercing his ear-drums. Igor no longer knew a source of pain. He was overloaded with messages of pain. Pain gnawed deep within him. It raced scraping over the surface of his skin. It ripped finger nails for flesh from his guts. It detonated deep within his mind. It was everywhere.

The Russian exploded back into life with a sharp cry. Ashawi had watched with expectation the rapid quivering in the sweating chest. Observed the balling of his fists, digging finger nails into bleeding palms. The quivering had spread over the big torso, growing in intensity. Muscles knotted and ripped. Shuddering uncontrollably. Tremors shook the big-muscled frame, pummelling itself against the grid.With a shout, the Russian erupted back into his world of pain.Ready for Ashawi’s next trick.

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8. Threat

Sammy just couldn’t take it in. Couldn’t keep up with what Ashawi was saying. Something about a load of questions….. If answered, they’d disconnect him….. Answer more and they’d unplug Igor too….. Fail to

answer a single question and Igor took the rap…..

Fretfully Sammy struggled to assimilate what Ashawi had said, work out what it meant. He fought to regain control of his brain. But wave after wave of scalding heat raged over him. With every attempt to take in what Ashawi meant, a fresh wave pounded him off his feet, tossed him in the surf, dragged him under

before he could get a handle on what Ashawi’s words meant for him.

But one message his brain fixed on in self-survival. They were going for Igor first. He was going to take the punishment. For now, Sammy’s shattered body would be OK. It was Igor taking it from here.

The crushing hand on his nuts that had dragged Igor through the vortex changed into an incomprehensible fumbling in his crutch. Igor was struggling with a mountain of pain and confusion. He could not piece together the fumbling in his shorts. Except that every touch seemed to shoot another round of burning pain down his thighs.

Through the thick swirling fog of confusion in his head. Igor sensed danger. Felt a icy finger nestling against hot flesh in his crutch. An ominous chill that cosied up to the burning flesh of his dick. Animal-like sensing danger, yet not understanding, Igor clawed his way unseeing through the choking fog of incomprehension. Reluctantly facing up to the inevitable, he broke through to the only world left to him – a world of pain.

Craning his head down, blinking to clear through his blurred vision, slowly he pieced together wires trailing out down his glistening thigh. Beneath his sweat-dowsed shorts, a shape, tube-like, lay alongside his own bulge. An ice-cold metal tube, linked to wires, connected to the battery. Clarity flashed into his skull. His brain worked it out in a flash. His dick had been wired up. Ashawi meant to fry his dick.

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9. Vitals

Panic pumped adrenalin into Igor’s blood. Not for the first time, he pumped power into his arms, knotted powerful biceps, heaved on chest muscles to force the straps. He gritted his teeth, screwed tight his eyes. A massive exertion of power. But the straps did not budge.He tried pummelling his hips up and down on the grid. Tried to dislodge his dick from resting alongside the electrode. But the waist strap pinned him down.

Panic. Adrenalin. Brute force. Fear. All combined. But he stayed strapped down. His fear swelled frantically. Adrenalin thudded through his veins. Filling his shaft. Blood flowed. His dick grew, nuzzling ever closer alongside the electrode tube in his shorts.

He did not need to see the bulge of fear tenting against the fabric. He felt himself swelling, lengthening, hardening. Shit, his dick was helping them out. All the time spooning up to the danger in his shorts. It was on their side.

Fear grew. Telling himself to get a grip, he tried to control the fear-induced hardening, divert his attention. Think of anything, any diversion. But his throbbing bursting dick sought only one thing, release. Release to be found only by rubbing up to the tube in his crutch. But that tube was the menace. A female mantis genetically programmed to eat him alive after he had cum. Devour him, sear him, skin blistering, frying the sensitive organ to a scorched crisp.

Igor felt his throbbing dick nuzzling up to the danger held in place by figure-hugging fabric. It demanded attention. It throbbed, was flooded with blood. Demanded to be rubbed, stimulated.

Terror seized him. Uncontrolled, unfathomable terror. “Get a grip”, he willed himself. “Take control. Mind over matter”. But primeval needs drove him on. Demanding attention, - even from an evil instrument of inhuman torture.

Ashawi noted the massive bulge with cold calculated interest. Tension gripped every terrified inch of his Russian rival’s torso. He’d realised what

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was to happen to him. He had started out by mouthing off, as always. Tortured had silenced him. And now a cold menace had him by the nuts. Igor had started sweating out his fear. Let him. Let him sweat. Sweat it out a bit more, thought Ashawi. There was no chance such an erection would decline, not in that state of fear.The Russian had infiltrated them. He aimed to destroy them. What Ashawi was meting out was justice. Tinged with a bright scar of revenge. The Russian would learn the Japanese price for betrayal, - and he’d feel it there where every man feared to be hurt the most. He’d aimed to destroy them Now he too would be destroyed. And he’d suffer every inch of the way along his bursting dick.

A morass of confusion raced through Sammy’s head. Ashawi’s words were falling on his ears. But he could not assimilate them. Shit, what was he to do? He was trapped. They were both suffering, had no way of escape. Ashawi wanted information about the extent of the operation. When Sammy gave it up, then things would be up for them. That seemed inevitable. But if Sammy revealed what he knew, more men would die. The Yakuza would wipe them out. Without warning, without compunction. Good men, unsuspecting men. Men he knew, drank with, played football with. Men who went home at night and played with their kids.

That was Sammy’s choice. Talk – and men died. Silence – and his partner suffered. Sammy turned his head away. Not able to look at his friend in case he made that decision. Not willing to betray with his eyes the fact that he was wavering. That he himself might have to put his friend to torture.

Still Ashawi talked. Igor seemed to be recovering, his breathing no longer so violent. Sammy shook his head from side-to-side as if movement would avoid making the choice. Still Sammy’s head failed to register Ashawi’s questions. His brain would not clear. Heat tremors buffeted him, breaking him out in sweats with every pass. His head thumped as if coshed, as if pounded with heat stroke. Ashawi’s words were sucked into his brain but mixed into a chaotic whirlpool. Unconnected, swirling, meaningless.

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10. Blistering pain

Each time Sammy ignored a question, Ashawi nodded to the torturer on the dial. Every time, Igor gave a quick sharp jolt. Every time, Sammy heart raced faster. Every time, his heart pumped more adrenalin-fired blood into his own dick. At the thought that Sammy was torturing his partner.

Igor jerked at the burst of juice that arced from the electrode to his dick. Short. Sharp. A slight threat. Not painful. Not yet. A promise of things to come. Between each jolt, Igor’s breathing quickened. Became more voiced, laced with tense anticipation. With every short jolt, his teeth clenched tighter, his arms bunched harder, his abs sunk deeper. And his heart pumped blood harder.

Time and again, a sharp terror-laden jolt sent tremors into his dick, trembled down his thighs. His dick, already fully swollen, felt fit to explode. In sheer terror of the threat to its life. It arched unbearably against his shorts, engorged, bursting with fright. The pressure in his balls was unsurpassable. His torso gleamed, suffused with fresh blood. Heart hammering. Pulse thundering in his ears. Heat billowing up over him, spreading out from his burning crutch.Between each jolt in the balls, Igor told himself to get a grip. Take control of his head, beat this fear. But there was no such control. Control was in the hand poised over the dial. Another jolt.

A firestorm erupted. Igor shrieked. A white hot heat consumed his balls in a flash. He had never known such pain. His balls were on fire. Intense flames scorched them in a blistering heat. A never-ending screech of agony erupted from his crutch. Like a burning fuse, sizzling, frizzling, scorching up through his innards.

Terrifyingly along the length of his dick, it seemed tender skin puckered in the intense heat. Bubbles formed beneath the skin, blistered, bubbled, pulsated. The sensitive underside was being agonisingly fried on a bank of white-hot flames. Unstoppable the screams. Inexorable the fears. Relentlessly burning him up, searing flesh, turning his life force into charred cinders.

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Igor lost touch with the outer world of reality. His universe was locked on a few inches of flesh in his shorts, searing eternally in a hell of flames and white-hot terror.

Heart-rending screams penetrated Sammy’s confusion. Long ear-piercing screams alongside him. Inhuman cries, wrenched up from a manly core by agony and despair. Long, enduring, soul-chilling screams.

He glanced over. Igor now lay collapsed back on the iron bed. Uncontrolled moans seeped out of his mouth. Spittle drooled unchecked out of the side of his mouth. The smell of rank sweat hung in the air, trickles flowed down his sides, pearled on his arms.

Pain rocked Igor’s head from side to side, uncomprehending, unable to fathom the depths of torment that had seized his powerful body he envied. A muscled frame that hung tense from the wrist straps. Chest lifted, back arched in tension off the grid. Shuddering with after-shocks.

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11. Responsibility

Sammy’s brain pounded with guilt and fear. This was his fault, he was to blame for Igor’s suffering. He was having the partner he admired suffer in agony, - as sure as if he’d turned the dial himself. Igor groaned as after-shocks of pain trembled deep inside him. Gripped him. Tensioned him. Torqued muscles. Twisted painfully tight.

Shit, thought Sammy, what was he to do? If he talked, men died. Kids lost fathers, If he stayed silent, his partner got it. Again. And again. Tortured to death until Sammy talked. Here in front of him. His shrieks turning Sammy’s blood to water. His screams shredding Sammy’s ear-drums. Till Sammy could take no more. What to do?

In the corner of his eye, he caught it. The hand back on the dial. Sammy caught himself. About to shout out “Stop!” Panicked into condemning other men to death. What to do?

Sammy ran in terror from the choice. His mind sought to void itself of all responsibility, to secrete itself into deep darkness. To leave thinking, feeling, leave choosing behind. But it was as if he was standing on a storm-swept beach, blown and buffeted by the storm, the wind rocking him on his heels, taking his breath away. Storm-driven spray slapped him in the face. Out at sea, approaching alarmingly fast, the tidal wave, the roar building to a crescendo, drowning out all thought. The thunder in his ears drove him in panic to flee. But flee where? There was nowhere to go. The tidal wave roared onward closing on his heels. Threatening to pound him into the sand. Pick him up and toss him in the surf, sucking him under like flotsam.

Alongside Sammy heard his partner groaning in his agonies. Sammy could not think straight in the tidal wave of indecision. The fear of choosing thundered in his ears. His head was splitting with pain at the choice he had to make. Next to him, he heard Igor was drawing in deep ragged sobs and moaning lowly.

Sammy was impaled on a stake of choice, spiked through the gut to the grid. In Sammy’s mind’s eye, Igor’s eyes met his. Accusation bit deep into his partner’s eyes. Sammy’s senses flicked down to the hand hovering over the dial. Helpless pity clouded his vision.

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Sammy could not look the spectre of Igor’s accusations in the eye. For fear of betraying his anguish of indecision. He sensed his partner tense. Hands bunched tight into fists. Biceps bulged as he took the strain and pulled on the straps. Desperate to escape. There was no escape. Sammy could sense the tension of desperation filling Igor’s chest. Air locked inside. Abs taut, compressed. Fearful of the moment when the juice bit again.

Could he let his tortured friend go through that again? Could he take the responsibility for his torment and lie there and watch? He saw a fresh jolt into Igor’s torso. Saw tightness clench taut the thick muscles of his legs. The Russian pulled on the foot straps. Held himself rock-solid, bracing himself. Feeling juice growing in his crutch. The searing agonies returning. His breath turned ragged, faster. Trembling with anticipation and fright.

Sammy saw visions of children sitting morose at home, their heads in their hands, while friends played outside in the sun, grieving for a dad that would not come home.

He heard the first murmurings of a whine from Igor. The dial turning infinitesimally slowly. Messing with his mind. Playing on his fears. As the burn on his dick began to grow. As Igor’s resolve began to crumble. A hiss as he bit down on the pain. Arms trembling with tension. The whine grew to a groan. Edged with growing fear. His face as if engraved from rock.

Sammy rocked his head from side-to-side, - tortured by indecision. They were torturing his mind.Sammy was torturing his own mind.What to do? What to say?

THE END.

Or is it?

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