Flesh Factory: An Extreme Horror Novel by Sam West

modification, who knows, maybe I’ll do something similar to you. On second thoughts, why would I want to do a thing like that? You are perfect as you are.”
    Hope could only stare at the poor girl in the room in horror. She was screaming and twitching pathetically, her ankles and wrists bound by metal cuffs, which in turn were attached to lengths of chain attached to the walls and ceiling. Her arms were stretched high above her head, and she was naked. Her body just looked plain wrong. Her breasts were oversized, like those girls with the obscene implants that sometimes made an appearance on late-night documentaries on Channel Four. Her skin was stretched taut, like a water balloon about to burst.
    But her waist was the worst. If it hadn’t of been for the chains holding her upright, it was painfully obvious that the poor girl would bend in the middle and possibly snap in two. There was no way that a waist that small could support the weight of her upper body, even without the grotesque implants. Hope could only stare at the whittled waist in horror; it wasn’t even as wide as her kneecap.
    “Beautiful isn’t she? Her waist is eight inches wide, which makes her measurements forty-seven – eight – thirty-five. Playboy would snap her up. Unfortunately for Sara, snap is about right. She can just about stand up by herself with the aid of a corset, but without one…” He made a snapping sound in the back of his throat, and smiled at both of them. “Six ribs were removed to achieve this shape and her internal organs were redistributed. Unfortunately, they were redistributed to such an extent that there is a high risk that blood supply will be severely impaired, thus, some vital organs may will wither and die…  Still, she was pretty while she lasted.”
    “You’re sick,” Hope said, unable to stop the words escaping and instantly regretting them.
    The girl called Sara stared beseechingly at her, her puffed-up, collagen filled lips making Hope think of a fish…
    … Which is exactly what the poor girl is. A fish on a hook .
    The girl’s screams gave way to pathetic sobs. “Please, it hurts so much, just please, make it stop…”
    “Shush, don’t cry,” Mick said soothingly, gently stroking the girl’s long blonde hair which hung down her back as long and as thick as a Barbie doll’s. “You have always been so vain, so obsessed with your looks. You’re the one that wanted to be a model, remember? Well, now I’ve made you more beautiful than any of them. And don’t you ever call me sick.”
    He turned on her so fast that Hope barely had time to comprehend what was happening. One second he was cooing at Sara, the next he had shoved her up against the wall, both hands around her neck, squeezing the life out of her.
    “Don’t you ever backchat me, bitch. I own you.”
    Spittle flew from his lips and his face blurred and dimmed above her. Hope couldn’t breathe, her head felt like it was about to pop and bright lights exploded before her eyes.
    He’s going to kill me , she thought calmly.
    Just as the room dimmed around her and the girl’s screams and pleas for help grew more and more distant, he let go. She fell to the floor and curled up in a foetal position, clutching her bruised neck and gasping for air.
    “I haven’t finished with you yet,” Mick said, his voice barely discernible over the ringing in her ears. The ringing eased and the woman’s screams resumed at full volume once more. “Get up.”
    Hope got to her feet, retching and shuddering.
    I don’t know how much more of this I can take …
    She stared at Mick, who stood there placidly watching her, his expression unreadable. Without a word he marched her out the room and shut the door and bolted the hatch. Hope was relieved not to have to look at that pitiful woman anymore, or hear her screams.
    It was silent out in the big room, or foyer, or whatever the hell it was. Her head still felt tight and strange, and black shapes swirled in