They thought they could lock me down, but my muscles don’t surrender that easily. Every inch of my body is tense, glistening under the pressure, veins pushing against the surface as I fight against the restraints. My arms flex with raw determination, my back arches, sweat tracing the outline of every cut curve. The cuffs clink with each jerk—I twist, pull, grunt—but they hold firm. My biceps bulge, and my thighs tighten as I push my strength to its limit. I can feel the heat building from frustration and effort, every movement more desperate, more explosive. Power like this wasn’t meant to be caged. How long do you think these chains can hold me?