| "Anything But Ordinary" | ||
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Nice Pair Stripclub June 3, 2008, 0217 hours Lima Time The fist struck the back of his head with incredible force, causing him to fall to the ground. Before he had a chance to do anything he was pulled back up and given another strong blow. His head, usually resilient to such treatment, began to feel the effects after five more direct hits. The pain circled his head like a ship circumnavigating the globe, touching on all aspects of his mind, searing through him like a tsunami. He tried to breathe but found he couldn't, the blows were coming too fast for him to even think. Once again, after a while the pain faded to be replaced with a dull ache. It gave him time to think, time to contemplate the situation. He was more or less immobilised; his hands were tied and the rest of his body was in a bad way. If he decided to act then he would have to succeed at the action first time, otherwise his body would fail him. The severity of the situation hit home in that instance: fuck up and die. No. He felt the arms lift him back up onto his knees. Fat Bastard was standing behind him, fist clenched, poised to deliver another strike. His back was straight, but he had to fight to keep his balance. His legs hadn't been touched yet. That was useful. "Fast or� slow?" he asked, tasting the blood seeping from his lips as he spoke. "What?" Fat Bastard laughed, lowering his fist a fraction. "I said fast or slow?'" "What the fuck you talking about?" Fat Bastard sneered, clearly enjoying his position. "Do you want me to kill you fast� or slow?" A laugh rolled from Fat Bastard's large mouth, filling the room, echoing. "That is funny. Now, if you want to play games then I guess I'm just gonna have to play with you. I'll be playing my own games though. Want to know what it is? I'll tell you. It's called `Beating The Fuck Out Of A Piece Of Shit Until He Is Almost Dead, But Not Quite'." Another laugh. "Sound good to you?" He laughed. "As long as you don't eat me, you fat fucking lump of lard." That got to Fat Bastard. He raised his fist again, but made a fatal mistake: he took a step forward. Now his right foot was placed in-between Nikolai's legs. Without warning he closed his legs around the ill-placed foot, gripping it tightly between his leg muscles, and moved them forcefully to his left. This caught Fat Bastard by surprise, and the fat man's ponderous bulk went crashing to the hard ground. As soon as he had hit the ground Nikolai had already manoeuvred himself behind his fallen abuser. Having `skipped' the handcuffs so his arms were now in front of him he placed them over Fat Bastard's neck and pulled the handcuff chain towards him. He watched as the metal links closed in on the mass of drooping flesh that served as a neck for his abuser, catching in one of the folds. He pulled tighter, observing as the rolls of skin flopped over to hide the chain. Fat Bastard gurgled, a desperate sound. His arms flailed wildly as he tried to gain some control, but Nikolai's grip was far too strong; the struggle was pointless. The arms swung towards Nikolai's head but fell short; a quick tug on the chain prevented them from connecting. Fat Bastard managed to get his left hand to his neck, his fingers digging into his skin, searching for the metal chain that was slowly draining his life; a non-living leech. Blood trickled from the small cuts inflicted by his nails. Still he fought. Nikolai moved close to his abuser's ear. "Fast or slow?" Fat Bastard tried to reply, but the chain was too tight round his neck. Nikolai loosened it briefly, just long enough for his abuser to say, "fast." His left hand cupped the chin; his right hand went on the side of the head. With a sharp movement the hands rotated the head quickly to Nikolai's left, snapping the neck and causing death instantly. Removing his hands Nikolai watched the body thump on the ground. He smiled. One down. A search of the body resulted in him finding the handcuff keys, which he used to free his hands. As soon as he had done that he composed himself, then opened the door. Peering both ways he saw the coast was clear. He needed his weapons. Moving to his right he saw that the next door was marked `Storage'. He pushed on the handle and the door creaked open. He felt along the wall and found the light switch. He flicked it on, and after a brief flicker the strip-lights flashed into life, removing the darkness and revealing a treasure trove of items. Sat on a desk was his knife and pistol. He retrieved them, placing the knife in its scabbard and placing that in his waistband. The pistol went into his right hand; it was the `air' pistol that Filippov had worked on for him. He left the room, weapon in front, and made his way carefully down the corridor. The silence was almost deafening. Ironic, he knew, but true. If it had been possible he would have frozen that moment and lived it, relaxing in the tranquillity. As it was the moment passed. He heard voices from around the corner and braced himself. He made out two voices. Diving round the corner he lined up the pistol with the first target and pulled the trigger. He thought the pistol had failed when he heard no sound at all, and pulled off another shot, again without sound. Fuck, he thought, this isn't going to plan. He was about to drop the pistol and remove the knife when he spotted the target falling backwards. His eyes noticed the hole in the falling man's forehead, right between the eyes. I fucking got him, he thought. The pistol had worked; the lack of sound was because it fired air, and so there was no bullet being forced out of the barrel. The second guard fell never knowing what killed him. Checking the body Nikolai saw that the wound was exactly like a normal bullet wound, except there was no jagged edges or powder residue. All there was was a dead body. Perfect. He stood up and looked at the sign on the door the two men had been guarding. It said Manager. So this was Odds' office. A noise came from beyond the door. The thump of the two guards as they hit the floor must have alerted Odds, and he was probably getting up to investigate. Nikolai stepped to the side of the door. After a second it opened, causing a rush of air as it swung past his face to the other side, directed by the hinges. Nikolai held his breathe in. Odds stuck his head out. He saw the bodies immediately, but the shock prevented him from acting. Nikolai hissed. As Odds' head turned towards the source of the hiss Nikolai threw a hard punch into the solar plexus, knocking the body back into the office. He followed the body into the room and saw the crumpled heap on the floor. The punch had been so hard it had knocked Odds unconscious. Nikolai lifted up the lifeless body and slung it over his left shoulder, keeping the pistol in his right hand. Now it was time to depart. Where the hell is the back door? he wondered. Return |
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