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KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)	By : runningnakedinthepark Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Rammstein Views: 2131 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Rammstein. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Title: KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)
Author: Robby a.k.a. Mr Naked
Rating: NC17/AU
Pairing: everyone and then some more
Disclaimer: I was smoking some really good stuff when I came up with this. Betas: Ketene & Hannelore_K

KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)
Part I. The Day The Whole World Went Away
Chapter 10.

“We’re wasting time,” I realize.

Everyone shuts up. I’m not looking at them; I look outside, at the street, at the people… Someone will see that there’s a car parked here where no one is allowed to.

“Is everyone ready?”

Richard has to make sure.

“Yeah!” The others reply and can still hear some bits of chuckling.

“Let’s go gentlemen!” Christoph says, and pushes the door open. He jumps out of the car, followed by Richard, Paul and Flake. In the same time, Olli gets out of the car, and comes on my side to help me get out. Christoph climbs the stairs first, running, followed by Richard.

“Go help him!” I tell Olli, and he runs after Paul to help him and Flake with the heavy bomb.
I walk in front of the stairs and start climbing them too, but slowly, at my own pace, as I’m watching the others.

Then I stop for a second, to rest my aching muscles, and I look up at the still, hot sky. That’s when I hear them – the gunfires, and the screams. I start climbing the stairs again. I can sense the panic growing; people run with chaotic gestures out of the building, they pass by me, almost bumping into me.

At least it’s a beautiful day, I think, looking again at the clear sky. A beautiful day to die, I smirk and enter the building.

The white marble floors, the marble covered walls, the large shiny stairs covered by red carpet; the smell of gunpowder, the fallen people on the floor - some dead, some injured, some only paralyzed by fear – all welcome me in silence. The cool conditioned air caresses my skin, heated until now by the merciless sun outside. I keep walking, at my own pace; there’s this surreal calmness that embraces my soul, as if I have left all the past pains and torment at the entrance door. I only look - curious, amazed - at the immense hallways with tall, gracious columns, thick carpets, and expensive wooden office furniture. Then, the images of misery, of pain and death cross my mind in flashes from the past: the misery, the pain and the deaths of those crushed and killed by the Beast.

People, running and screaming in fear, pass by me, barely avoiding crashing into me. Far away, in front of me, a woman stumbles and falls; a guy running behind her stops just for a split second so he wouldn’t stumble on her body, then he jumps over her frame lying on the floor and he continues running toward me. But, the young blondish man, business-like dressed, seems to have noticed me, and he slows down his pace, while his gaze fixes my face like hypnotized. I continue my walk, helped by my walking stick, the gift from Christoph.

As I’m approaching I can read on his face the fear paralyzing, bit by bit, the man in front of me; he stops running, and he props his back against a wall, to allow me to pass by. But, to his dismay, I stop right in front of him, fascinated by the way his face reflects the power I seem to have over him. He is quivering, and this appears to have even a more powerful effect on me, as if waking up an, until now dormant, demon of which existence I haven’t known so far. His shocked, enormous blue eyes have frozen in a mute prayer – he is begging for his worthless life to be spared. His fear is luring me; I get even closer to him, as if to allow my body to feed on the uncontrolled shiver of his body. He is breathing his own fear, hot and destructive. It’s like I could just clench my fist over the thread of his sorry life and break it with an imperceptible gesture. And he knows it; his back is glued to the wall behind him, spreading over its sturdy flat surface as if trying desperately to let himself be absorbed by it and disappear.

I raise my walking stick and touch the boy’s cheek with its head – a mock of a caress. I hesitate, not knowing whether to just hit the guy, to take upon him all the sufferings. He is just one of them, the Beast’s slaves; he was born when the Beast had taken over this world already, he doesn’t know any different. Children like that help the Beast thrive, and live further into its demented nightmare it created. Should we forgive them because they don’t know what they’re doing?

Screams, shrieks, and the thundering bark of the guns firing, then: “Down, you cock suckers! Nobody moves!”

I twist my head; they are all already in that big hall, waiting for me. I throw again a short glance to my drenched-in-fear victim. But he is just the first one of them; now it’s our turn to make them howl in pain and fright. Let the ball begin!

I take a step away from the guy, and in the second I take away from his face the head of my walking stick, his body collapses near the wall. I start walking to the hall where the others are, not looking behind.

I walk into the huge room, slowly, one step after another, like an old man having his afternoon walk in the park. Nobody is making a sound; not the people lying on the floor, near their offices and desks, nor my guys.

One of them is standing on a desk and pointing a gun at the people lying on the floor. He is tall and slim, dressed in a black suit. One of his eyes is blue, the other one, is dead. His head is shaved, except this Mohawk; I can barely recognize in this man, with that face contorted by hatred, my gentle Christoph.

Near a window is another one of them, also wearing a Mohawk, having a rifle in his hand, too. The chatty and always joking Olli is now watching very quietly and tensely what is happening outside the building. In the center of the hall is Richard, with his always hanging in the corner of his mouth cig, the ruffled black hair and the three days unshaved face. On a counter there’s Flake sitting, while Paul is walking from desk to desk, pulling their drawers, grabbing money from them and throwing it up in the air and giggling.

“Get rid of the cameras!” Christoph growls, and Richard lifts his gun, and then fires at the corners, where the surveillance cameras are. Each bark of the mouth of Richard’s gun is followed by horrified whimpers and shrieks of those lying on the floor and under the desks.

“Shut the fuck up!” Christoph’s demented shout makes the walls tremble and everyone in the hall freezes, even the five of us.

He used to read to me, out loud, all those forbidden-by-this-regime books that he got through his network. He had this soft and gentle voice, almost whispering when reading out loud; everyone was saying my brain is completely zapped, but I guess he wouldn’t give up his conviction that there still was a connection to reality in me. I assume he needed to believe that, so he, himself, would keep his sanity. Richard told him that I used to read a lot, and about the walls covered by shelves filled with books, in my house at the country.

Where is Flake?

“Who’s the manager?” Richard’s yell breaks the icy silence.

Richard turns slowly on his heels, pointing his gun to the people on the floor. Christoph, on his desk, scans the laid bodies as well. From where I am I see a little motion under a table near to me.

“That’s him,” I point to the guy with the silver skull end of my walking stick.

Richard gets closer to that desk from under which this middle-aged guy stands up slowly.

“Where’s the vault?” Richard questions the manager, but the old fellow can’t talk, he’s shaking so bad, frightened.

“Where’s the vault, grandpa?” Paul mocks him walking toward them. But he remains motionless after only two steps.

“There,” the manager barely whispers.

“Open it!” Paul orders him.

“Olli, you go to the vault! Paul, the communications room!” Richard spreads his orders. “Where is it?” He shouts at the manager.

The old guy looks back at him, shocked, as if all his insides melted in the same instant.

“Where is it?” Richard howls like insane.

“The second floor,” the words stumble out of the manager’s mouth.

“Who else has access to the second floor?” Richard asks.

Silence.

“Answer him!” Christoph yells.

Whimpers. Silence. Then, another feeble voice. A woman.

“Me, sir,” she whispers, as she is rising slowly on her knees.

“Paul, go with her!”

With a jump, Paul is near her, grabs her arm, pulls her to her feet and drags her out of the room.

“Olli, the safe!”

Olli leaves the window and follows the old manager to the money room.

Christoph jumps down on a different desk, then on another until he reaches to a TV set. He turns it on, and flips through the channels.

I’m still standing in the middle of the enormous hall. Richard watches Christoph flipping through the TV channels as he lights two cigs, in the same time. Then, he takes one out of his mouth and passes it to me. I take it and drag the first smoke feeling some sort of gratefulness, as if that immaterial snake coiling through my lungs would have certified me, that I was alive. After so long.

Richard’s sudden leap over a desk brings me back from my memories. He jumps like a hungry tiger on his unsuspecting prey. He remains motionless for a split of a second, his arm stretched over that arm that was sneaking from underneath, his hand covered by the black leather of the glove placed over those fingers that were aiming to the alarm’s button.

“Look what a courageous kitty we have here,” Richard says with a raspy half amused voice as his other hand, clenched on the blond hair of a woman, is lifting her, forcing her to get on her feet. “Do you want to call the cops, dear?” He asks, bringing his rough, unshaved cheek to touch the smooth and matte skin on the woman’s face. His head nods slowly, upward and downward as he seems to be sniffing her skin, like he would be inhaling and getting drugged on her perfume mixed with the scent of her fear. “There!” He growls in her ear and presses her hand over the button.

The shrieking, ears’ tearing sound of the alarm seems to explode from everywhere.

“Mmmm, nice,” Richard grins, grabs the woman into his arms, closer to his chest. “Aren’t you a pretty thing?” He mumbles with his cig in the corner of his mouth, as he looks straight into the woman’s eyes. She seems to lose balance for a second, but he squeezes her in his arms, straightening her. “So beautiful, reminding me of my wife,” he adds, as he places the fingers of his healthy hand on the back of her neck and extends his other hand. “I used to dance with my wife. And she loved it.” He continues forcing the woman to spin with him, as if in a dance.

The blond woman whimpers, but that’s her only reaction as she seems to have been hypnotized by Richard’s ferocious glance in his eyes. Her face expresses something like half fear, half attraction toward this man, that dangerous but handsome man her parents always advised to stay away from.

“Shall we dance?” Richard continues his charade, spinning with her. The woman’s red-nailed fingers clutch on the black fabric of Richard’s coat, as he waltzes with her to an unheard music.

“Gentlemen, we have company; the cops are here,” Christoph’s stern voice announces to us, as he takes Olli’s position near the window.

There’s only the sound of the steps of the pair, on the smooth shiny marble floor.

On the screen of the TV, the white wall of a monumental building with huge windows. On that wall there is a small black dot, like an ant climbing that wall, clumsily, but undisturbed by that mass of police and military people pointing their guns toward it. It is Flake with his bomb.

“I guess the media is here too,” Christoph comments and lights himself a cig, as well.

“Good,” I murmur, pleased that everything is going according to the plan.

And what a plan! The Beast’s servants - now we were to use them for our own purpose to denounce the horror, the lies and the terror. I was despising them the most – they were those helping the Beast establish its empire of lies and terror, they were those contributing directly to its building – obedient servants. That was what I used to say back then, hidden in my little country house, as all those thoughts were reaching each and everyone through our network.

I look back at Richard, waltzing between the desks with his blond capture.

“... there is what seems to be a robbery in course,” the hysterical voice pours from the TV set. “The police don’t know yet how many hostages they have...” Then, the images of the building and of all the forces surrounding it, all those servants wearing the Beast’s uniforms, displayed there.

Then, like following an unheard command, everyone’s head raises a bit, all looking at the ceiling as if it would have been transparent. That feeble purring of a helicopter engine!

Only Richard continues his dance.

“They brought the army, too,” Christoph whispers moving away from the window.

He stands motionless on the desk; no one of the hostages even dares to breathe, there’s only the purr of the helicopters like huge metal flies, the sounds of the comments on the TV, and the steps of the dancing pair.

“Got the money!” Olli’s voice breaks this artificial silence, making everyone quiver on unison. Then, a few quiet seconds, as Richard stops too, frozen in that waltzing position with the woman in his arms.

A muffled thud makes everyone quiver again – the woman's body falling on the floor. A few whimpers follow, too. No one had to announce, everyone knew in that instance that the blond woman is dead.

“Good, kill the old fart!” Richard orders.

Bam! The old guy is dead on the spot! His corpse falls with the same muffled thud, followed by hysterical screams and cries.

~ To Be Continued ~
- 9
- 10
- 11
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KAAMOS (A Tale For Grown-up Kids)