THE HIGH TABLE

Officer_Bolt:

I can be proud of myself. I managed to infiltrate a criminal syndicate that organized illegal fights, which almost without exception ended in the death of at least one fighter. I was soon hired as the head of security for the entire organization, which gave me the opportunity to delve deep into their secrets and get to know everyone who worked there. My goal is to shut down the entire operation from the inside, and if I could get rich in the process—albeit unofficially—so much the better.

To top it all off, I got close to the men participating in the matches, and even closer to some of them. If you know what I mean. The best part of it all was that I became friends with a few guys who soon started to trust me. They were happy to tell me the boss’s deepest, most closely guarded secrets, and soon I had enough material to either blackmail the boss or take the matter to the prosecutor. Life was good.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal:

“Consider it gratis.” Those are the final words I give before ending the call, my thumb pressing the screen dark while the engine growls beneath me and the city lights smear across the windscreen like dying sparks. If there is one thing I hate more than a cop, it is an undercover cop, the kind that smiles in your face while quietly building the rope meant to hang everyone around him. The Boss had every reason to be concerned. Somehow, you had slithered your way into the confidence of people who should have known better, gathering names, locations, schedules, recordings, enough poison to cripple the organisation if it ever reached the wrong hands. Not that any of it matters now. Evidence can be burned. Files can vanish. Bodies can disappear even faster. The real concern is tomorrow night’s fight. A raid would cost money, reputation, fear, and fear is the foundation this entire empire stands on. The Boss gave the order less than an hour ago. Strike today. End it before you can speak to anyone else, before some ambitious detective decides to play hero and storm the warehouse under flashing blue lights. Preparation matters in my line of work. I prefer patience, surveillance, control. This time, there is no luxury of planning, only speed and violence. I am already driving toward the warehouse that will host tomorrow night’s fight, the same warehouse that, by sunrise, will become your grave.

Officer_Bolt:

My plan seemed to be working better than I’d dared to hope at first. People liked me; they trusted me. I was the guy they’d go grab a beer—or two—with after a long day. Good. No one suspected a thing. Tonight would be the moment when I could deliver the most painful blow below the belt, take down the big bosses in one fell swoop, and bring all those rich clients to justice who had been betting on which fighter’s blood would stain the canvas tonight.

I stepped out of my office to make sure the plans were still on. I got a message from my police chief that everything was ready at my signal. I stepped into the ring, pretending to check its safety and the placement of the cameras.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal:

At seven foot two and pushing four hundred pounds, stealth has never exactly been my speciality. Men my size are built to intimidate, not disappear. Still, experience teaches you how to move carefully when the situation demands it, and I managed to stay out of sight long enough to watch you leave your office alone, tablet tucked under your arm like it contained your entire life. Maybe it does. I try the door first. Locked. Sensible, but not enough. I plant one hand against the frame, the other around the handle, and apply the kind of quiet pressure only someone my size can manage. Metal groans. The lock resists for a few seconds, then finally gives up with a sharp crack that echoes softly through the office. Physical security always sounds impressive until brute force introduces itself. Inside, the room smells faintly of coffee, printer ink, and stale air conditioning. Your laptop sits open on the desk, screen glowing softly in the darkness. That almost makes me laugh. Careful enough to lock the door, careless enough to leave the machine unlocked. Amateur mistake. I move through folders quickly, scanning encrypted messages, coded notes, fragments of conversations that confirm what the Boss already suspected. Undercover cop. Deep enough inside the organisation to become dangerous. But the real problem is missing. No photos. No archives. No master files tying everything together. Which means the evidence is probably on the tablet still clutched in your hands somewhere out there in the warehouse. I tear through the office methodically, opening drawers, cabinets, cupboards, checking behind files and beneath stacks of paperwork. Every second matters now. I need everything. Every scrap, every drive, every photograph. Nothing can survive tonight except me.

Officer_Bolt:

I’ll take a few photos with my tablet of the venue’s security arrangements, the security guards’ break room, and the security control room. These will be a good addition to the rest of the material, especially when planning the attack. The strike team’s tactical leader is expecting a full report with photos before noon, so I decide to send it right away. I look for my touchscreen pen in the side compartment of my tablet, but the slot is empty. “Shit, I must have left it at the office,” I curse under my breath and head back to my room.

When I arrive, I notice the door is strangely open. The sturdy security lock has been smashed to pieces on the threshold. I push the door open slowly, without making a sound, as my eyes widen and my mouth drops open in confusion. The biggest man I’ve ever seen, a true giant, Goliath, is rummaging through my things, feverishly searching for something. I can guess what it is; I grip my tablet tighter and shove it into my thigh pocket. I grab a metal coat rack from the corner, lifting it without making a sound, and sneak up behind the giant. I kick my combat boot between his legs from behind and strike the man’s thick neck with the steel legs of the coat rack again and again, hoping to break it before he even has time to turn and face me.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal:

A low moan drags itself from my throat the moment the pain hits, sudden and blinding, a burst of white heat that tears through me before settling into a deep, expanding ache that spreads into my abdomen like fire crawling beneath the skin. Before I can even process it, another impact crashes into me. My neck. Hard enough to snap my head forward. Then again. Again. Ruthless, fast, precise. My knees slam into the floor. The strikes keep coming, each one shaking my body harder than the last, my muscles refusing to respond properly as pain floods every nerve at once. Concentration slips through my fingers. The room feels distorted, movement everywhere, shadows and shapes rushing around me faster than my eyes can track. Too fast. Far too fast. Every attempt to react feels delayed by half a second, and half a second is enough to get killed. Instinct takes control long before conscious thought can catch up. My hands shoot behind my head, forearms tightening around my neck in a desperate attempt to shield it from the blows raining down on me. I can feel the force of each strike vibrating through bone and muscle even through the guard, relentless impacts hammering against my defence while my breathing grows ragged and uneven. Somewhere in the chaos, anger begins to rise alongside the pain, heavy and dangerous.

Officer_Bolt:

The giant falls down to the floor with a loud thud, hitting his knees against the hard tiles. Just as I hoped. I have seen guys recovering surprisingly fast, so I have no time to lose. I am not a small guy myself, but this guy could easily double my weight. But even the biggest guys have their weak spot. He needs to breathe; he needs his blood to circulate in his veins, bringing oxygen to his giant head and feeding his brains. And this is precisely what I am going to prevent from happening. I jump on your neck, wrapping my legs around your neck. My arms might not be large enough. Trying to get your massive throat in figure 4 style lock I increase the pressure on your neck, hoping to squeeze hard enough your carotid artery. If it works, you would be cold out in less than 30 seconds. To disturb and distract any of your attempts to defend yourself, my arms are wrapped around your head while my fingers are raking your eyes.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal:

Everything still feels too fast, as though the world is running half a step ahead of me while I struggle to catch up. Somewhere in the haze of pain and adrenaline, I realise the strikes have stopped. In their place comes something worse. A crushing pressure coils around my neck, tight and deliberate, squeezing with brutal consistency. My hands move instinctively, searching through confusion until thick fingers brush against hard muscle and fabric. Legs. Your legs are wrapped around my neck like steel cables, thighs flexed tight as you try to choke the life out of me before I can recover. Even through the fog clouding my thoughts, I recognise the intelligence behind it. Blows to disorient. A choke to finish. Efficient. Professional. My hands clamp onto your legs and begin forcing them apart, raw strength slowly prying against the pressure, but then another bolt of pain rips through me. Sharp. Focused. Agonising. Fingers digging into my eyes. A clever move.

Most of my body is protected by slabs of dense muscle thick enough to absorb punishment that would cripple ordinary men, but my eyes are still eyes. Soft. Vulnerable. Human. Instantly my attention abandons your legs. I release them and reach upward blindly, fumbling through movement and confusion until my hands finally crash around your forearms. The grip lands hard and absolute. Each arm caught in one hand. I rip them away from my face with humiliating ease and hold them there, locked in place no matter how violently you struggle. For a few seconds neither of us gains ground. Your legs continue crushing my neck with relentless pressure while my neck muscles tense and swell beneath them, resisting the choke through sheer monstrous strength. A stalemate between technique and raw power. But with every passing second, the chaos in my mind begins to settle. Time slows back to normal. My breathing steadies. Thoughts sharpen. The situation becomes clearer, more solid, more real. I stop reacting. And start thinking.

Officer_Bolt:

The thrill of my initial victory is in danger of fading as I realize how easily you can twist my arms away from your face, rendering them useless in an instant. Your mind is likely racing with plans to turn the situation to your advantage, and I have to stop that at all costs. It’s clear I can’t choke you. My powerful thighs aren’t strong enough to fight against your thick neck muscles. I have to focus on your carotid artery, cutting off the blood flow. If I succeed, you’ll be unconscious in less than a minute.

I shift the grip of my thighs, trying to focus my pressure directly on the sides of your neck. I use every ounce of strength I can muster as I lean forward and sink my teeth deep into the back of your neck. “I don’t know who you are or how you got in here, but I know you’re leaving here in a body bag,” I mutter against your flesh, tasting your blood in my mouth.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal:

With clarity comes awareness, and awareness brings understanding. I feel every adjustment in your position, every subtle shift of weight, every attempt to improve the choke before I fully regain control. I know exactly what you are trying to do. There is technique there, real technique, but it is tangled with desperation and wasted movement. Too much force where patience is needed. Too much panic hidden beneath the aggression. Then I feel the bite. Teeth sink into the side of my neck hard enough to break skin, sharp pain flaring for a moment before fading into irrelevance almost instantly. The sting barely registers. Over the years I have endured torture that would have shattered ordinary men, pain delivered slowly and creatively by people determined to hear me scream. Compared to that, this is nothing. Animal desperation. A distraction. Calm returns completely.

With slow, deliberate control, I rise to my feet, your body still clinging to me as though hanging from the side of a cliff. The pressure around my neck tightens, but now I can feel all the flaws in it. It might have worked if I had stayed disoriented. Might have worked if your position had been cleaner. Might have worked if you had more time to tighten the hold properly. Might have worked if you had not wasted precious seconds biting at me like a cornered animal instead of improving control. But you have none of those advantages now. You cling to me as though your life depends on it, when in reality the opposite is true. I stagger two heavy steps toward the table, turn sharply, then let my full weight collapse backward. The impact is catastrophic. Wood explodes beneath us with a deafening crack as our combined mass smashes through the table and into the floor below. Pain erupts through the room in a violent burst of splintered timber and flying debris, my near four hundred pounds of muscle crashing directly down on top of you like falling concrete.

Officer_Bolt:

You stand up, and at first I’m afraid you’ll crush me against the ceiling when you suddenly drop onto your back on the floor. My legs are still wrapped around your neck as we crash onto the wooden table, which shatters into tiny splinters everywhere. The impact of my back alone is enough to force the air out of my lungs in a single, forceful breath, but your massive, heavy body presents me with new problems. Your neck slams into my groin with your full weight. The impact alone makes me scream in pain, but when my genitals are also squeezed between my torso and your neck, I start writhing beneath you like a snake run over by a truck. You move upward over the wood chips, rolling my body inch by inch beneath you. I try to use my elbows to pound your temples to get you to roll off me. "Whoever the fuck you are, I'm going to kill you!"

Kalvin_AKA_Kal:

I hear the threat beneath your ragged breathing and answer it with nothing more than a low, dismissive grunt. The sound barely leaves my throat as I begin to move, slow and deliberate now that the chaos has passed and control belongs to me again. I raise my body slightly, just enough to let you think you can breathe properly, then I drive my weight back down onto you. The impact forces the air from your lungs in a sharp burst. Again. I lift slightly, shift my balance, and drop once more. Each movement is calculated, each crushing impact forcing your body to absorb the punishment while draining your strength simply trying to survive beneath me. Four hundred pounds of dense muscle grinding down onto your ribs, your abdomen, your chest, making every breath expensive. Every second costs energy you cannot afford to lose. Eventually, resistance weakens enough that I no longer need my full bodyweight to keep you pinned. One leg is enough. I lean to the side slowly, planting my leg across your chest and increasing the pressure until I feel your body tense beneath it. My weight sinks through you like concrete settling into wet ground. “Officer Bolt.”

I pause deliberately, letting the name settle between us, letting you understand that the mask is gone now. No more pretending. No more undercover games. “A sensible undercover cop stays invisible. Quiet. Patient. He lurks in the shadows and gathers intelligence slowly over months.” My voice remains calm, almost conversational. “You did the opposite. You made yourself noticeable. You pushed too hard, too fast. Brazen. Obvious. Stupid.” I twist slightly, concentrating even more pressure through the leg pinning you down. The movement earns another strained reaction from you, and finally a faint smile touches the corners of my mouth as I stare directly into your eyes. This is going to be enjoyable.

Officer_Bolt:

Your words are like an icy shower that paralyzes my whole body for a moment. "How the fuck do you know my name? How is it possible that the information leaked?", but I decide to play my part to the end. "Big boy, looks like you've made a huge mistake. I’m the head of security here. But who the hell are you, anyway? And what the fuck are you snooping around in my room for?” I try to keep my voice steady and confident as I grab your ankle with both hands, trying to bend it into an unnatural position. “Get off me or I’ll break your ankle!” I command you, hoping you’ll believe my act.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal:

My leg snaps violently, the sudden burst of force tearing your grip apart instantly. There is no leverage left for you to fight against, no strength left to hold on as I surge upward. I lean my full weight into you during the rise, compressing you beneath me one final time, forcing another crushed gasp from your lungs before the pressure finally lifts. Then I stand. I tower over you in the wreckage of the shattered table, chest rising steadily while splintered wood creaks beneath my boots. You look smaller down there now, sprawled across broken debris, your compact muscular frame straining beneath the black security shirt stretched tight across your torso. Strong for an ordinary man, maybe even dangerous against most people. But lying beneath me, you look painfully human. In the corner of my vision I spot the tablet across the floor, discarded during the impact. That gets my attention immediately.

My boot plants across your neck before you can move, firm and controlling rather than crushing, pinning you against the floor with effortless authority. Enough pressure to remind you exactly how powerless you are beneath me. Enough to keep you still while I bend down and retrieve the tablet from the debris. The screen lights against my palm. Biometric lock. I glance at it briefly before lowering my eyes back to you. “Are you going to show me what’s on here,” I ask calmly, my boot pressing down just a fraction harder against your throat, “or am I going to have to persuade you?”

Officer_Bolt:

I’m not stupid. I have no doubt that if I tried anything foolishly reckless right now, you’d press your full weight down on my windpipe, crushing it effortlessly into a pile of mush, and most likely snapping my neck in the process. So I’ll lie completely still beneath your feet, waiting for the right moment to surprise you when your guard is down. Maybe I’ll find your weak spot—every man has one, and so do you. I just have to find it.

I look at my tablet on the floor, glowing dimly, waiting only for my biometric authentication. “It’s just personal photos—mostly sports cars, nothing that would interest you,” I try to reassure you by pretending to be cooperative. “If you want, I can show you. Just move your foot off me so you can see for yourself,” my voice is friendly and persuasive.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal:

Sometimes patience is useful. Sometimes it gets results that violence cannot. And sometimes patience simply runs out. This is one of those times. I remove my boot from your neck and kneel beside you. For a moment I simply stare down at you, watching the defiance still flickering behind your eyes despite everything that has already happened. Even now you are calculating, resisting, searching for angles that no longer exist. Enough of that. My hand closes around your head almost casually, fingers spreading so wide they nearly wrap from jaw to crown. I lift your head off the floor with one arm, then slam you back down hard. The crack of skull against broken timber and concrete echoes through the room. You twitch violently. I do it again. Harder this time. Fragments of shattered table shift beneath your head as it strikes the floor, and I feel the resistance in your body beginning to fade. One final impact drives the last fight out of you completely. Your muscles loosen. Your limbs slacken. Consciousness slips away from you all at once. Silence settles over your office except for the sound of my breathing. A thin pool of blood begins spreading slowly from behind your head, creeping through splintered wood and dust while I remain crouched over you, one massive hand still resting against your face. “No more games.”

Officer_Bolt:

"I'll kill you!" I try to sound convincing as you throw me to the ground one more time. My mouth fills with the taste of metal, and my head throbs until my body stiffens as if in a seizure, until you disappear from my sight—or rather, everything disappears: the room, myself, the pain. I feel only something wet and warm beneath my head as I lie there on the ground, unconscious. ..."I’ll kill you..." is my last thought, and then silence reigns everywhere.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal:

Most jobs are messy. Fast. Brutal. You finish them and leave before the blood has fully settled. Occasionally, though, I get the luxury of time. The luxury of control. The opportunity to enjoy the work properly. This is one of those occasions. I spend several quiet minutes tending to the wound on the back of your head, cleaning away enough blood to stop it spreading further. Practicality matters. I am not having you leak all over the upholstery of my Jeep like some amateur kidnapping from a low budget crime film. Once the bleeding is slowed, I retrieve the tablet and sling your unconscious body over my shoulder with ease, your arms hanging limp against my back while I carry you out of the ruined warehouse. The cold night air hits as I step outside. You make no sound when I dump you into the back of the Jeep. The drive is short. Quiet. Streetlights slide across the windscreen in long pale streaks while the engine growls softly beneath me. You never even realised the location you were given was fake. A decoy. Something disposable designed to catch exactly this kind of problem before it reached the real event. The actual fight location sits far from the city, hidden behind an abandoned industrial site where nobody asks questions and nobody calls the police when they hear screaming. He is waiting when I arrive. Even standing still, the Boss radiates irritation, his expression darkening as his eyes settle briefly on your unconscious form in the back of the vehicle. Pleased that I found you. Furious that you managed to get close in the first place. “I’ll take care of it,” I tell him calmly. He studies me for a moment, then gives a slow nod. No questions. No instructions. He knows my reputation well enough by now. I leave no stone unturned.

I carry you through the maze of dark corridors inside the industrial unit, my heavy footsteps echoing off concrete walls until we reach one of the smaller preparation rooms used by the fighters before matches. The place smells of sweat, disinfectant, old leather and anticipation. A single flickering light buzzes overhead. Functional. Isolated. Perfect. I dump your unconscious body into the corner and crouch beside you, taking your limp hand and pressing your thumb against the tablet screen. A soft beep answers immediately. No password prompt. No delay. The screen floods with evidence. Photos. Audio files. Messages. Transaction records. Enough material to burn entire sections of the organisation to the ground if it ever reached the authorities. For a moment I simply stare at it in silence, then my grip tightens. The tablet creaks first. Then the casing cracks apart inside my hand as pressure crushes plastic and bends metal inward like soft tin. The screen bursts in a spray of fractured glass. I drop the ruined device onto the concrete floor and bring my boot down hard again and again until nothing remains except twisted fragments and glittering shards scattered across the room. Only then do I finally turn my full attention back to you.

Removing the rest of your gear is easy work, each layer stripped away while I study the physique hidden beneath the security uniform. Lean. Defined. Compact muscle carved tightly across your frame with visible striations beneath the skin. The kind of body built through discipline and obsession rather than sheer mass. I always prefer seeing muscle clearly. It makes damage more satisfying when you can watch exactly what is happening beneath the surface. A faint smirk crosses my face when I notice the tiny grey briefs. Of course. They suit someone like you far too well. I leave the thought there for now and instead grab a pair of silver trunks laid out for one of tomorrow night’s fighters, pulling them onto you before hauling you upright again. Your wrists are secured tightly to a heavy bench bolted into the floor, restraints positioned carefully enough that escape becomes impossible even after you wake. Then I leave you there in the dim light, bound and unconscious, waiting for the moment your eyes finally open again.

Officer_Bolt:

The emptiness and silence are slowly broken by the sound of a faucet dripping, drop by drop. My eyelids feel heavy, and it takes all my effort to open my eyes until, little by little, my vision adjusts to the dimly lit room. I try to move, but I immediately realize that I am tightly bound. Memories of the previous events flood my mind quickly—of that giant, that titan. I’m not sure if he’s even human, but if he is, I have to find his weakness and strike when he least expects it.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal:

Over the next hour the room becomes a revolving door of violence. Fighters come and go under strict instruction not to speak to you. Some obey coldly. Others glance your way with curiosity, pity, or open hostility before being ushered back out toward the pit. You sit there in silence, wrists bound, forced to listen to the muffled roar of distant crowds and the ugly sounds that follow every fight. Flesh striking flesh. Metal barriers rattling. Men screaming through broken teeth. Then they start coming back. One limps in clutching shattered ribs while blood pours freely from his nose and mouth. Another staggers through the doorway barely conscious, an eye swollen shut and half his chest painted dark red. One man never returns at all. You notice that. You notice every detail because you understand what it means. You have been saved for last. Eventually the noise outside fades. The crowd leaves. Silence settles over the building like dust after an explosion. Then the door opens again. Two guards enter. One stares at you for a moment before slowly shaking his head in disappointment, as though genuinely offended by what you turned out to be. The other looks far less reflective.

“Get up.” The ropes around your wrists are untied roughly. “You really fucked us over, James,” he growls while dragging you upright. “If that even is your real name. Now the favour gets returned.” They strongarm you from the room and march you deeper into the industrial unit until the main fighting area finally opens before you. The atmosphere feels completely different without the crowd. Empty now. Colder. More honest. Only three men remain. The Boss sits calmly beyond the makeshift pit, expression unreadable beneath the harsh industrial lighting. Beside him stands his personal guard, broad shouldered and watchful. And in the centre of the fighting area stands me. Crates, steel beams and stacked industrial debris form rough boundaries around the pit, transforming the warehouse floor into something primitive and brutal. A place built purely for suffering. The Boss’s guard pulls back his jacket just enough for you to see the handgun resting there. “Try to run,” he says flatly, “and I blow your kneecaps off.” His eyes shift toward me. “Fight him and win... and maybe you get to live.”

Officer_Bolt:

As I listen to the boss’s words, I cautiously turn my gaze to the giant standing next to me. I size him up from head to toe and swallow hard, then turn to look at the big boss again. “Is it enough to knock him out, or do I have to kill him to get out of here?” I ask hesitantly, knowing deep down that the big boss would never let me leave here. Not alive, at least.

“All right. I accept the challenge, but on the condition that no outsiders interfere in the fight. I’ll bring your giant’s body right here to you,” I try to keep my voice brave. Despite my dreadfull state I attempt to bounce my muscles in front him as I turn to you and slap your thighs. "Ready to die, big man?"

Kalvin_AKA_Kal:

The imbalance is deliberate. Carefully designed. Nothing about this situation is accidental. I stand there in heavy combat boots and dark tactical trousers, built like a siege weapon given human form, while you stand barefoot in silver trunks clearly borrowed from another fighter, your smaller athletic frame exposed beneath the cold warehouse lighting. Every detail is intended to strip away confidence before the fight even begins. The size difference alone is absurd. My shoulders broader than your entire torso. My weight almost double yours. A predator beside prey. You hide it well, I will give you that. The bravado remains. The defiance too. You still carry yourself like a man convinced he can somehow survive this. But I can see the truth underneath it, buried deep behind the posture and the sharp tongue. Doubt. Fear. The growing understanding that this is no longer an arrest operation or undercover assignment. This is punishment. I smile faintly. The Boss does not.

“Make it quick.” His voice cuts through the warehouse low and cold, carrying the kind of brutal authority that leaves no room for interpretation. I move instantly. My size twenty one boot slams into your chest with enough force to launch you backward off your feet, your body crashing flat onto the hard floor before you can properly react. I am on top of you almost immediately, momentum and weight crashing down together. My legs trap yours beneath me while my mass crushes the air from your lungs. Then I seize your arm. Both hands clamp around it, and I yank hard while twisting sharply at the same time. There is no contest between your body and my strength. Muscle and connective tissue strain beyond their limits instantly. The shoulder tears free with a sickening violent pop that echoes through the pit. Your body jerks beneath me. I lean closer, my grip still controlling the ruined arm as pain floods across your face. “That,” I say calmly, “was for the coat rack.”

Officer_Bolt:

My screams and tearful cries echo through the empty arena as my shoulder joint pops out of its socket, leaving my arm useless. I can’t even wriggle away from the pain under the weight of your foot. The pain is overwhelming and makes me feel sick, but I clench my teeth to gather the strength to stand up to you. “Aren’t you brave enough to fight like a man? You’re using your elephant-like weight as a weapon. Let me go so we can fight properly,” I try to keep my voice as defiant as possible.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal:

You are still talking. Still trying to distract me with words, still trying to claw back control through sarcasm and bravado even while sprawled broken beneath me. It almost earns my respect. Almost. “Because real men sneak around and attack people with coat racks?” The words leave my mouth cold and sharp, immediately followed by violence. My fist crashes into your face before you can answer. The combination of raw strength, mass and downward momentum hits like industrial machinery slamming into concrete. Your head snaps violently sideways against the floor. I feel cartilage collapse beneath my knuckles. Your nose breaks instantly. Judging by the sickening crack that follows, your orbital socket probably goes with it. Blood sprays across the pit. I rise slowly to my feet while you writhe beneath me, dazed and half folded into the wreckage. My chest expands with a steady breath as I casually wipe the blood from my knuckles onto my black cargo trousers, leaving a dark smear across the fabric. Then I spit down onto you. The crowd may be gone, but humiliation still has value. “Up,” I order flatly. I stare down at you towering overhead, enormous frame casting a shadow across your battered body. “Now.”

Officer_Bolt:

My head is buzzing; I feel like I’m losing consciousness again, but from somewhere deep inside me I find the strength to get up and stand facing you. Varjose leaves me in the dark while you smirk at the big boss, as if to show that it will all be over soon. But I’m still breathing, and the fight isn’t over. Staggering, I take a step back to create a little distance between us as I spin around and my body springs up in a leap toward you. I raise my knee to strike you in the groin while my remaining good hand strikes your eye socket.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal:

My hands instinctively drop to protect my groin and intercept your attack, but the adjustment leaves my eye exposed. Your strike crashes into it hard. Pain explodes through my skull. I stumble backward immediately, one hand clutching at my face as my vision blurs into smears of light and motion. Blood trickles between my fingers and down my cheek. The damage is real. You got me cleanly. For a moment the world tilts unevenly around me while I fight to regain focus. My response is immediate and violent. I step forward and throw a punch at your head loaded with everything I have behind it. It cuts through empty air as you duck away at the last possible second. Another punch follows, then another, each one missing by inches as you weave and dive frantically to avoid being launched into next week by my monstrous strength. Then my left hand opens and shoots forward. My fingers wrap tightly around your throat. The moment the grip lands, the fight changes.

My arm flexes and lifts you clean off the ground, holding you suspended at arm’s length while your feet kick helplessly above the concrete. My vision is still blurry, one eye half closed while blood runs slowly down my face, but clarity is returning now. Fast. My grip tightens harder around your neck. You claw at my wrist instinctively but it makes no difference. The pressure crushes your throat so completely that breathing becomes impossible. Your body jerks and strains against my hold while I stare at you dangling in the air. I could end this now. I know it. You know it too. But death would be too merciful after everything you have done. I want you conscious for what comes next. I want you to feel every second of it before your soul finally leaves your body.

Officer_Bolt:

I struggle first violently, but as I realize it to be useless, I stay hanging from your tight grip of my throat. My face has turned dark red. The big boss is showing signs to you. I know those signs are not meaning anything good to me. All of a sudden i hook my leg and send my knee into your bulge as I lift my good hand up trying to poke your eye with my fingers.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal:

Your inexperience in real hand to hand combat becomes painfully obvious the moment panic takes over. The knee strike you throw upward carries almost no force without your feet planted properly on the ground, the impact little more than a dull thud against my body. At the same time your fingers reach toward my damaged eye, desperate to worsen the injury, but my longer reach keeps you too far away. Your fingertips barely brush my face before my free hand sweeps your arm aside effortlessly, brushing it away like an irritating insect. You are weakening now. I can see it clearly in your eyes as they begin to lose focus, slowly rolling backward while the lack of oxygen tears through your body. Your struggles become less coordinated. Less dangerous. Your feet scrape weakly against the air while your hand claws uselessly at my wrist. Almost finished. But not yet.

My grip around your throat relaxes slightly, just enough to stop you slipping unconscious too early. I pull you closer instead, dragging your smaller body against my chest while one massive arm wraps tightly around your torso. Your arms are trapped instantly, pinned helplessly against your sides beneath the crushing pressure of my hold. Your dislocated arm distorting even more. Then my other hand releases your neck. Not to spare you. To secure a better grip. Both arms lock around your body now, muscles swelling and tightening like cables beneath tattooed skin as I compress you against me with horrifying force. “You tried to destroy the core of HIS operation,” I growl into your ear, my voice calm despite the brutality of the hold. “Now I destroy yours.” Then I squeeze. Violently. The sound that follows is sickening. Several ribs snap almost simultaneously beneath the pressure, sharp cracks echoing through the empty warehouse while your body convulses in agony inside my arms. The roar of pain that tears from your throat sends a slow smile across my face. Across the pit, it earns one from HIM too. He watches silently for a moment longer before giving a slow nod of approval.

Officer_Bolt:

It feels like someone’s firing a machine gun in an empty hall as my ribs snap one after another. I feel some of them piercing my lungs as I start coughing up blood. I kick with all my might, trying to wriggle free from your grip, even though I know it’s useless. "Let me go," I scream in my now-broken voice, "you don’t have the balls to fight your own kind, you impotent giant!" I raise my head defiantly, showing that I’ll stand my ground like a man until the very end. Your boss smiles and gives you the sign to execute me, laughing.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal:

“Insolent fool.” The words leave my mouth with genuine irritation this time, and my arms tighten violently around you in response. The remaining ribs finally give way beneath the pressure with a series of ugly cracks, your body jerking against mine as agony tears through you. Whatever fight remains inside you is fading quickly now. You are surviving on stubbornness alone. I release you suddenly. Your legs collapse the instant they touch the ground, sending you crashing into the concrete in a broken heap. The scream that follows echoes through the empty warehouse, raw and uncontrolled. I can see you trying to swallow the sobbing afterward, trying to bury it beneath anger and pride, but pain strips dignity away from everyone eventually. “I could leave you here to bleed out,” I say calmly while staring down at you. “But where’s the pleasure in that?”

I reach down and seize your left leg. One sharp movement. The snap is immediate. Your entire body convulses as the bone breaks cleanly, another scream ripping from your throat loud enough to bounce from the steel beams overhead. Across the pit, the Boss watches with cold approval while his guard remains motionless beside him. I crouch beside you again, one massive hand gripping your jaw to force you to look at me despite the tears in your eyes and the blood running down your face. “You built this yourself,” I murmur. “Every bad decision. Every lie. Every step deeper into something you didn’t understand.”

I click my fingers at HIS guard, who throws over a pot of peanut butter. I scoop a load of it into my fingers and then reach inside your silver trunks and smear your cock and balls with it. Your cock twitches in my hand and grows a little. "A light snack" I announce. I reach into my pocket and take out a small whistle. I blow hard. Not a sound, or at least not a sound we can hear.

Then I rise slowly back to my feet. From somewhere deeper in the warehouse comes the sudden pounding of claws against concrete. Heavy. Fast. Getting closer. I smile faintly as the sound grows louder. My two rottweilers cover the ground in no time. "Feeding time!" I call to them.

Officer_Bolt:

I crawl on my back with the help of my elbow and my squirming spine, trying to get distance from those approaching beasts. You have that smile on your face, a smile that tells me you couldn´t care less. I cross my legs trying to hide my masculine parts that are closest to the open mouth of the arriving beasts. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" is all I manage to scream when the first of the hungry dogs pushes its head between my legs.

Kalvin_AKA_Kal:

The dogs hit you with terrifying speed. There is no hesitation, no circling, no warning growls. Just instinct and violence unleashed all at once. The warehouse erupts into chaos as they tear into you in a frenzy of snapping jaws, snarling aggression and flying blood. Flesh gives way instantly beneath powerful bites, and the sheer amount of blood turns the concrete into a slick crimson mess within seconds. Your screams drown out almost everything else. The sound bounces endlessly around the empty industrial unit while the dogs thrash and pull with savage excitement, muscles flexing beneath dark coats as they fight over you like predators around fresh prey. The Boss watches without emotion. His guard barely reacts. For them, this is simply another loose end being removed. Then I raise the whistle again and blow sharply. Instant obedience. The frenzy stops immediately. Both rottweilers release their grips and back away from you at once, panting heavily as blood drips from their jaws onto the concrete floor.

Gertie trots back to my side first, tail swaying proudly, with Bambi following close behind. “Drop.” They obey without question. Wet chunks of torn flesh fall from their mouths onto the floor with sickening little sounds. The chewed remains of your cock and balls lay on the ground beneath Gertie's mouth. "Greedy girl!" I glance over briefly at what remains of your groin, now little more than a ruined mass of blood, shredded silver fabric and exposed bone. Even from here I can tell the damage is catastrophic. There is no saving you now. Not from this. The two guards step forward silently to collect what is left. Corpse duty. You probably have less than a minute of consciousness remaining before blood loss finishes what we started. Your breathing is already weakening, your movements fading into involuntary spasms while your eyes struggle to stay focused. I look down at you one final time. “Goodnight, Officer Bolt.”

Published: 2026-05-15, viewed 119 times.