Ultimate Rage - Ragnarok (Thriller)

by Andrew Holten

  Anton didn’t seem convinced. “But I want to see Sandra right away. She’ll kill me if I get something from this bitch and give it to her.”

  “Then just use a rubber,” Alex suggested.

  Thomas nodded. “Exactly. And I bet her cunt is nice and tight. That will make you even hotter for Sandra and you’ll really give it to her. Then Sandra will be happy too. You see, you all get something out of this.”

  Alex laughed. “Then you should hurry up. When me and my spanking are done with her, her cunt won’t be very tight anymore. You’ll have to fuck her in the ass. And whether it complies with the purity law, I doubt it. They don’t know toilet paper where she’s from.” With that he stroked his baseball bat obscenely.

  Thomas nodded, reached into his pocket and pulled out the folding knife, which he snapped open right in front of the young woman’s face. Ralph threw her to her knees and she looked at everyone completely terrified, trembling all over.

  “Strip!” Thomas ordered, twisting the knife back and forth.

  The young woman did not move, only continued to look from one to the other with trembling lips.

  “Strange,” Thomas said. “Actually, you’d think she’d at least know the word after all, the little nigger bitch.”

  “Then I guess we’ll have to be helpful to her after all and show her what we mean,” Anton pressed out between angrily clenched teeth and grabbed her shirt to tug at it gruffly. The young woman screamed and tried to wriggle away, but this only made Anton angrier. In a sweeping motion, he struck her in the face with the back of his right hand. Her head was thrown to one side and she went down.

  “Easy!” Alex interjected. “When she’s unconscious, it’s not so much fun. She’s supposed to get something out of it and see everything nicely. Otherwise, the whole thing doesn’t make any sense.”

  “That’s right,” Thomas confirmed. “After all, we want her to enjoy this to the fullest and learn something from it.”

  With that, Ralph tugged her back up and Thomas brought his mask very close to her face again. “Take it off.”

  He reached for her shirt and tugged lightly at it. Then at her skirt. “Take it off.”

  “I think she needs a little encouragement,” Alex said, and then kicked her still unconscious friend in the side.

  The young woman screamed and she wanted to rush to her friend’s aid, but Ralph held her back.

  “Undress!” Thomas repeated. “Well, you should really understand what we want from you. It can’t be that difficult, even for someone like you!”

  Alex laughed and kept slapping the baseball bat into his free palm.

  The young woman looked alternately at Thomas, Alex and Anton, gazed with trembling lips into their demonic-looking grimaces and finally reached for her shirt.

  Thomas nodded. “There you go. There you go. You understand us just fine. Certainly such words as undressing, cocksucking, and fucking, anyway.”

  He was just stepping a little closer to the young woman again when something rammed into Alex. It happened so fast that everyone just jumped to the side, but Ralph didn’t let go of the young woman.

  When Thomas turned around, he saw only a shadowy figure sitting on Alex and beating him furiously. At first Thomas thought her friend had woken up again, but he was still lying unconscious in the same place as before.

  Anton was the first to react and jumped towards the figure. The figure, however, had apparently been waiting for him, snatched his baseball bat from Alex and smashed it with full force against Anton’s right knee. A brutal crunch gave the impression of splintered bones and Anton cried out in pain. But even as he went down, the figure stood up, swinging the baseball bat around so that Anton’s head was hit by it as it fell. There was something deeply repulsive about the crunch.

  Thomas thought he saw Anton’s shattered lower jaw detach itself from his head, but it was only his imagination. Anton plopped down like a wet sack on the floor, where he lay twitching.

  “Fuck!” Ralph groaned, still holding the young woman, who looked transfixed at what was happening, seemingly unable to believe that two of her attackers had been struck down.

  “Who the hell are you?” Thomas groaned, but the figure did not move. Because of the dim light he could not make out its features. But the figure was tall and appeared to be a man, dressed in dark colors and his face obscured by a hood pulled low.

  Thomas jumped forward, ready to hit the attacker first with his killing stick and then let him feel the blade. However, the still motionless figure slid to the side at the last moment and Thomas felt a fist rammed right into his face. His nose broke like a toothpick and blood shot out, hitting the mask and splashing up into his eyes, taking away the last of his vision. In the next moment the baseball bat crashed into his stomach and Thomas was thrown back by the force. Only peripherally did he notice how the knife slipped from his hand and he crashed to the ground.

  “Shit!” yelled Ralph, pushing the young woman in the direction of the unknown assailant and running. The stranger threw the baseball bat at him, hitting him in the back. He stumbled and crashed into a tree. He groaned and turned, ready to strike. But even as he turned, the stranger’s fist was waiting for him, sending the back of his head crashing into the tree.

  Immediately Ralph wanted to stand up again, when with full force the knee of the stranger crashed into his testicles, which felt as if they had been burst open. As his body reflexively folded forward, the same knee hit him in the head, causing it to crash against the tree again.

  Dazed, Ralph saw how the stranger tore off his mask and in the next moment his fist crashed into his face again. And again. And again. And again, shattering his nose bone, his cheekbones, his jaw. Then the flat palms of his hands crashed simultaneously on his ears. When his eardrums burst, Ralph just blacked out.

  Thomas turned onto his back and breathed heavily. He tore off his mask to wipe his eyes clean. In doing so, he came to his broken nose, which hurt like hell. So did his ribs, some of which were surely broken.

  The stranger approached him, picking up the baseball bat as he did so.

  Thomas raised his hands defensively. “Hey!” he groaned, already suspecting what was about to happen.

  Like an unstoppable force of nature, the stranger made a lunge, swinging the baseball bat, which crashed with unrestrained force against Thomas’s left hand, shattering every single bone. The fingertips of Thomas’s right hand were also hit, causing the fingers to bend backwards and break.

  Thomas screamed out. The attacker swung the baseball bat hard on Thomas’s knee. Again and again. Then swung the bat with all his might on Thomas’s testicles.

  Lying down, Thomas threw up and barely managed to turn to his side so that he could get some of the vomit out of his mouth. His body was a single wound, shattered and in total pain. He was shaking all over and felt himself losing control of his bowels.

  When he looked up again, the stranger was standing over him. In one hand he held Thomas’s mask, which he seemed to be looking at, in the other his jackknife.

  “Who are you?”, Thomas still brought forth in a quivering voice drenched in utter despair.

  The stranger dropped the mask and squatted on Thomas’s torso, almost making the his eyes bulge out.

  “I… am you!” the stranger said in an ominous voice.

  For a brief moment, Thomas caught a glimpse of the stranger’s face and it startled him more than anything he had ever seen.

  Then the stranger grabbed Thomas’s hair with his left hand and pulled his head up. With a horrified look, Thomas saw the stranger bring the knife to his forehead. As the blade cut into his flesh, Thomas cried out. He knew exactly what symbol the stranger would use to mark him forever.

  2

  Mo first had to lean forward when he entered the apartment. He was only in his early thirties and yet he already felt so old. Soon he would no longer be able to use his nickname Mo, which truly belonged to a young, dynamic man. His real name, Mohamed, was probab
ly more appropriate, since everyone would then automatically see an old man sporting a full gray beard. He didn’t have the full beard yet, but he was thinking about growing one, but of course much shorter and more modern.

  He was simply taking on too much, which is why he was panting now. But the stress in his job was enormous and somewhere he needed an outlet. But it wasn’t just work. Sometimes there were days when frustration about everything boiled over and demanded a reaction. Only lately it wasn’t just days, but more like weeks.

  He straightened up and took a breath. He really needed to shower and make himself presentable again. His customers expected a certain appearance and right now he didn’t look very confidence-inspiring. More like the incarnation of one of the nightmares they had, and he couldn’t afford that.

  He always had to be doubly careful that people at least forgot with their second thoughts that he was of Turkish descent and thus shed all their prejudices and dislikes, at least for a second, so that he could win them over, step by step. That their first thought was simply “Turk” and thus an imprinted continuous fire of prejudice hammered itself into their brain, he knew. Therefore, he built on the second thought to gradually work his way forward.

  Mo took another breath, then smiled. Someone during his training had once explained to him what a positive effect it had if you simply smiled for a minute. It was better to do that when you were alone, because people around you would think it odd if you just smiled, but Mo could confirm for himself that it helped.

  Turks were said to often look so grim, as if they were constantly looking for a sign of provocation. You couldn’t say that about Mo. His facial expression was always friendly, relaxed and inviting. This had mostly to do with that smile exercise that had already become routine for him. But few people knew what kind of volcano was bubbling inside him.

  Yesterday he had overdone it and paid the receipt today. His fists still hurt and showed abrasions on some knuckles. Not good. As a customer service representative in a bank, you had to make sure you looked neat. Whether the body was fully covered with tattoos under the suit didn’t matter, as long as they didn’t see it. But anything that was uncovered had to conform to certain rules, guidelines and expectations. And if someone asked, he would simply say he had fallen off his bike. That sounded plausible and always went over well. People in small towns in the countryside liked it when you were environmentally conscious and didn’t take the car. It was clear to everyone that accidents like this happened.

  Mo looked at his smiling face in the mirror. Yes, it really looked crazy. As if he was trying to be the Turkish version of the Joker. That was all that was missing, that he was associated not only with all the negative characteristics of a Turk, but also with a homicidal psychopath. Otherwise, he looked quite friendly and, moreover, good-looking. In order not to reveal that he had a well-trained body, he would have had to wear a potato sack. His face truly had something very mischievously friendly about it, which won him sympathy from women of all ages. With his three-day beard, thick curly black hair, dark eyes and good teeth, he looked very attractive. Almost like a model.

  Mo startled when he heard a noise. Unmistakably, someone was in his apartment. Immediately his whole body tensed up and switched into fight mode. Once trained, you couldn’t get rid of such fighter instincts. You could suppress them, overplay them, but they were always there.

  All his senses were now on alert, searching for any indication of where the enemy was lurking and from where he would strike. Cautious as a tiger moving slowly toward its prey, Mo crept silently forward. As he did so, he kept his left arm bent, his hand loose to allow him to react flexibly, while his right hand was drawn back and clenched into a fist, ready to spring forward in a veritable explosion of power. Whoever had dared to break in on him would be in for a nasty surprise.

  Mo wished he had immediately parted with his sweater and T-shirt underneath, both of which were drenched in sweat and could become a disadvantage in a fight. Besides, it would have had something of Bruce Lee style if he had crept along with a naked, muscle-bound upper body to face his opponent.

  Mo’s opponent appeared abruptly and just as silently as Mo himself. Mo, however, was prepared, his opponent was not. With a battle cry that went to the marrow of his bones, the like of which even an Asian karate fighter could not produce more intensely, Mo lunged at the figure, swept its legs away, and a moment later pinned it to the ground, pressing its own hands behind its back.

  “Ow!” was all the figure uttered.

  “Give up!” Mo countered when he noticed the man below him trying to free his hands.

  “Why?” came the somewhat surprising answer.

  “Because you have no arms to fight with. And your legs are also useless.”

  “I’ll blind you with spit!” the man replied, sounding undaunted.

  Nothing happened for a few moments, during which the figure breathed a little heavily under Mo’s weight. Then they both laughed and Mo stood up, helping the man up and hugging him joyfully.

  “Ben! I wasn’t expecting you today!” Mo greeted his longtime friend and looked at him with a smile. Ben hadn’t changed and still looked as unassuming and almost gangly as ever, which of course was completely deceiving. It was even more possible to fall for this mistake if Ben hadn’t been grooming his short but thick full beard for years, without which he reminded everyone directly of John Cusack.

  Ben smiled. “I was able to get away early and thought I’d surprise you.”

  Mo slapped Ben lightly on the shoulder. “You succeeded.”

  Ben nodded and looked at Mo. “Well, maybe I should have waited until after the shower to do that. Are you working out that hard again?” With that, he pointed to the large punching bag that stood in the corner of Mo’s living room and had clearly lost its color in some places.

  Mo shrugged his shoulders.

  “Not going so well right now, I guess,” Ben stated. There was no accusation in his words, but rather a very accurate knowledge, so Mo didn’t even try to fool Ben. Again he shrugged his shoulders.

  “The work. And all the other crap. You know.”

  Ben nodded, then looked at Mo’s damaged knuckles. “Any incidents?” They both smiled mirthlessly and Mo waved it off.

  “Nothing serious. You know I keep my head down and out of trouble. Just find it hard sometimes. Not like when I was younger. But sometimes, well, I have to blow off steam. But if I wasn’t careful, I’m sure you would have heard something.”

  Ben smiled and this time it was genuine and much friendlier. “It’s okay. I just don’t want you to get in danger or break what you’ve built. You can be really proud of that.”

  Mo nodded with a smile. “We both can. What about you?”

  Now it was Ben’s turn to look noncommittal. “Oh, you know. I’ve finally settled down.”

  Mo continued to look at Ben. “And you expect me to believe that? No harm done? No more nightmares?”

  Ben smiled wryly. “They’ll never go away, I guess. But I have to live with that. And I can, thanks to you and your family.”

  Mo laughed. “I guess we both saved ourselves, brother.” In Turkish, it was often customary for good friends to call each other brother. Mo never did, but he meant it the same way with Ben. Ben was more than a friend to him, he was his brother.

  “So, are you going to join us?” Mo finally wanted to know. With that, he as- ked the big question that was always in the room.

  Ben went to the kitchen and prepared the coffee. “Where I am, I feel comfortable. The big one, you know, doesn’t suit me so well.”

  Ben laughed. “Well, we’re not that big. Just closer to the center of power. Today at the meeting you can take a look at everything. Whereas, hmm, if you see the bosses, maybe you’ll stay right where you are.”

  “Which would be perfectly fine.”

  Mo raised his hands placatingly. “Of course. Of course. But isn’t your clientele slowly dying off? And I think the small outlying branches are
bound to be the first to close.”

  Ben turned on the coffee maker and didn’t look over at Mo. “I’ll see. I’m already doing customer visits. Like to drive around, too.”

  “Yes, the lone knight on his heroic quest to make the world a little better. Still the same old.”

  Ben smiled. “Not quite the old man.”

  Mo came over to Ben and put his right hand on his shoulder. “You’ve always been like this. Don’t forget that. There is no before and after. The after was only because you were like this before. You have nothing to blame yourself for. You wrestle with your demons as I wrestle with mine. There is nothing wrong with that. We just must never give up the fight and let them win.”

  “No retreating. No giving up.”

  “That’s right, brother. That’s right. Blood of my blood. Always.”

  Ben laughed and raised his right arm to expose a spot just below his wrist that showed a fine white line. “We were already two goofballs. If you did something like that today, you’d be declared completely insane. Hey, become my blood brother. Sure, and how? Easy, we take the totally germy knife here, cut ourselves on our forearms, and then hold the wounds together.”

  Mo laughed. “Did you catch an infection or did I? So much for pure blood. Mine was pure, because nothing happened to you when you got it. But your sauce was probably totally contaminated with bacteria, and I, poor Turk, got something from you right away.”

  Ben laughed. “You really can’t tell anyone!” Then he took a breath and looked at Mo for a few silent moments. “I wonder what your father saw in me. I mean, I...”

  Mo smiled graciously. “He saw in you exactly the same as I do.”

  Ben grinned. “Not exactly.”

  “Yeah well, at first I thought my dad was crazy and just wanted to beat the shit out of you. Okay, I was young and didn’t know any better. Turkish blood and puberty is a dangerous mixture. You need a little more time. But if it wasn’t for you, I’d be in jail or worse right now. I owe you my life, man. And I’m sorry I was so angry at the beginning. At you and at my father. I was a stupid Turk. That’s how we are sometimes.”