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   Chapter 2 No.2

Prey World - Organized Rage By Alexander Merow Characters: 5077

Updated: 2018-07-06 12:02

The authorities threatened to block the Scanchips of all who supported or joined the Freedom Movement of the Rus in secret. In the worst case, helping the Rus could even mean imprisonment or execution.

This situation was terrible for everyone involved, and slowly the concerns of the once so creative and fun-loving young man ate him up from inside.

"I cut off, if necessary, to Japan, if I can`t stand this hell anymore", he said sometimes to himself and felt a little more relieved. But this feeling never lasted long, because the fear in his head was always there, in these sorrowful days.

?Goal!", screamed Frank Kohlhaas enthusiastically and turned around to his teammates. His best friend and today`s opponent, Alfred B?umer, looked angrily at him and clenched his teeth.

Frank had humiliated him again with his soccer skills. Now the goalkeeper shot the ball across the field and the match went on.

"Give me that thing!", Frank heard his teammate Sven shout from the other end of the field and brought the leather with a deliberate kick in the direction of the young man. Header, goal, Alfred landed in the dirt again and cursed.

"B?umer, even my grandma is faster!", scoffed a young man of Frank`s team. Alf growled at him and gave the ball an angry kick. The game still lasted for a further hour. Today it was sunny and warm. An ideal day for a football tournament in the Lithuanian village of Ivas. Finally, Frank Kohlhaas' team could defeat the other three teams from the tiny village and the young men walked off the field with a satisfied grin.

"What was wrong with you today, dude?", asked Frank the frustrated B?umer with sardonic undertone.

"No idea! Maybe I just wasn`t fit. Next time, we`ll sweep you from the field, Kohlhaas!", grudged the giant and kicked against the ball with a silent snarl.

Julia Wilden gave Frank an admiring glance and the young man answered with a broad smile.

"Franky, go on!", she yelled and made a victory sign.

"I dedicate my last goal to you, fair maiden!", called Kohlhaas and gave Alf a nudge in the ribs.

"Fuck off!", whispered B?umer and sat down on a stool.

It was a wonderful day. Julia was giving Frank all her attention and literally idolized him. Her father, the head of the village community of Ivas, clapped on his back and praised him too. "I didn`t know that you`re such a great dribbler, boy!"

This summer day, full of sports and fun, did Kohlhaas good. Today, he had thought not a second about the horrors of the Japanese war, which

had wrapped up his mind so many times in the last months. The policy, the war and everything else seemed to have vanished in the distance. And the young man was glad about it.

"Let`s go to Sven for a drink!", suggested Alf and gave the impression, as if he had calmed down.

"Good idea, old man!", said Frank and smiled.

They went back to the village and finally visited Sven who was waiting for them with a beer case. So much fun and relaxation, the two friends had not had since months.

It was Saturday and the meeting was planned for today. The old warehouse, somewhere in the countryside of northern Belarus, was filled with nearly 200 people who were eagerly waiting for Artur Tschistokjow`s speech.

Except for a few abandoned farm houses and large fields, there was nothing around them. The leader of the Freedom Movement of the Rus looked nervously out the dirty window beside him. Meanwhile, it was 19.00 o`clock and it slowly got darker.

"I hope there are no informers among the people...", said Tschistokjow quietly to himself, breathing heavily, full of worry.

The fear that the police would suddenly approach, tortured Artur since hours. Some of his men stood near the entrance with guns in their hands, willing to defend themselves, if the cops should try to arrest them.

The leader of the group of Minsk, Mikhail, opened the gathering and got thunderous applause. He railed against the Belarusian politicians who served the World Government as administrators of the country. He called them "traitors", "criminals" and "bloodsuckers". Things like this, the discontent men who had come to the meeting, wanted to hear. It sounded like music in their ears, in a time when all hope seemed to be lost.

A comrade from Gomel turned to Artur and asked him to begin his speech. The young man walked up some wooden steps and went to an amateurish looking speaker`s desk, his fellows had made for him. The front part of the desk was covered with the flag of the organization.

Tschistokjow felt his heart pounding faster, while his comrades started to applaude. A very young boy came to the little stage and said reverently: "I`m proud to meet you personally, Mr. Tschistokjow. I have seen a report about you on television!"

The leader of the Rus smiled at him and beheld the naive appearing bunch of men in front of him. They looked up to him like believers to a priest. But what could he really give them?

"Not even a mouse must fear us...", he muttered to himself. Then he spoke to his followers.

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