I want to start a group story, I'll start it simply and then it can pick up pace if the ball rolls.
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Michael walked into the room he had only ever heard of from the mouths of drunken fools who lives had been wreaked by their involvment with the likes of Mr Shanks. His mouth felt dry and his hands dripped wet, he was going against all that society labelled him.

The room was lit by a single candle balanced precariously on the edge of the mantlepiece opposite him. It bowed and flickered as he entered, casting ugly shadows across the white-washed walls. A tiny man with silver-blue hair and a narrow grey face looked up from the table.
"You came, then," he hissed.

Michael felt the bile rise to his throat. His mouth gaped and shut like a goldfish in its bowl, but no sound emerged. Mesmerized he stared at the dwarfish figure at the table. He watched as the thin lips parted in a chuckle.

'Yes, you came. They all come to me in the end.'

The dark shark eyes of the little man bored into Michael's soul rendering him unable to rationalise the situation.. He blinked in an effort to restore normality to his thoughts but he felt his thoughts were no longer his own..

The room stank of drink and smoke, though behind these familar smells, was another odour, strange and sinister, an odour Michael had once known but pushed to the outer edges of his conscienceness; but which was now teasing, testing his memory.

'You are aware of the dangers? Other than increasing your pain threshold you may experience disorientation, fixated vision, pulsating auditory and visual hallucinations, much as if waves were travelling up your body or as if you were twisting or spinning. Disorientation increases rapidly and the pulsing sounds increase. I strongly advise you not to open your eyes during the procedure.'

Michael briefly woke from his divulging living dream fed to him by the man operating the machine besides him, accompanied by a nurse.

“Doctor this exercise is punishment not voluntary, I don’t want to see, hear or FEEL A FUCKING THING!”

“Well that’s enough of that Mr Green…nurse sedate him please…see you in ten minutes Michael” said the doctor with a wry grin that was followed through with a glare of deserving deliverance

“Ten years you mean…fuck ya” said Michael ever more so quietly as he dozed back into the dream machine, his nightmare, his hell, his chastisement.

Michael was not aware of his offence, of any need for punishment. He knew he had walked into the room apparently without being compelled or forced in any way. Yet what was happening to him seemed inevitable, as it had to many before him.

"Green" said Mr shank, "I am your Judge and jury and I'm going to do to you in a million different ways what you did to that poor bitch...now please enter the red door"

"Nooooooooooo!" screamed Michael as his controlled body walked into the mouth of Hell

"Let Justice begin,” growled Shanks

All went dark but only for a second, the really darkness would come with the light.

When the light came on, blinding, stark, he realised that it was crowded with limbs, they were hanging from leather straps on all the four walls.

“Clever” he thought

No doubt the sex offender would be coming through the door any second

“Oh surprise,” mused Michael “I’m a fucking woman”

Before Michael’s humour could be replaced with more fitting terror the door thrashed open, rain exploded into the room and a figure stood in the archway, lit only momentarily before the dim room bulb sparked out

Michael recognised the man before him, it was himself…wielding a stiletto

How was he going to be able to get himself out of this?

Could he?

(Two days later)

Michael had been locked for what seemed an eternity; he could not escape, not even if he had wanted to.

Once the beatings and abuse stopped he looked up to see himself bring a heavy blow of an axe down on him and then darkness rested again but only briefly.

Michael knew the second he woke he would run and then never stop

He had learnt the wisdom of never stopping from his strange childhood.

And the sound of his own heart beating was an ever present accompaniment to the familar mounting panic..