Claimed:The Disappearance of Karsten Olsen, Chapter Two

[CowboyinAmerica 2,889]

This is the second part of an ongoing series explaining Karsten Olsen’s absence from the VHL. The first part can be found here.

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The Disappearance of Karsten Olsen, Chapter Two

Somebody's Watching Me

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YvAYIJSSZY

 

Actual message received in Karsten Olsen’s inbox, Oct. 26, 2013, three weeks after Karsten’s disappearance, from the Commissioner’s Office:

 

 

Toronto brought to my attention that Jack Sound is missing from the Legion finances. He signed the following contract:

S35: $3 000 000*

S36: $3 000 000*

S37: $3 000 000*

S38: $3 000 000*

*Conditional NTC - Edgar chooses four teams he does not want to play for at the start of each season.

 

 

“Oh, isn’t that cute?” Satan said, staring down at the ice where he had kicked former VHL defenseman Karsten Olsen just moments before. “Look at this nice message from Victor. He doesn’t even know you’re gone. In fact, nobody does. You’re nothing, just a weak, pathetic piece of trash. You don’t even have any reason to be looking at these emails anymore, do you?”

 

The cell phone crunched mercilessly under Satan’s skate. Karsten had not seen his cell phone for three weeks, not since he had been thrown in the basement, but it still felt like a piece of him was among the shattered glass blending into the ice. His last link to the outside world, one of the final ways he could escape, was now becoming one with the shabby rink he was forced to call home.

 

He had become well acquainted with this dilapidated arena. Once an offseason training facility for the VHL’s Hamilton Canucks, the arena in Marietta, Georgia, had sat vacant since the Canucks left the VHL in Season 7. The Alliance for the Thrashers Reborn (ATR) had attempted to fix up the place, but he could tell that there were no professionals among his captors. The ponds outside in Davos had a smoother ice surface than the one he was forced to skate on.

 

Karsten even would have preferred playing outdoors to... this thing.

 

For one week, Satan and the other captors pushed him. He was to play defense on this makeshift team — he had once been the top defensive selection in the VHL Draft after all, and that wasn’t too long ago. However, Karsten found it hard to try and play with the motley crew the ATR had cobbled together.

 

In net was Satan, and Olsen could tell that he hadn’t played real hockey for a while. His partner on defense was Edward Eldred, whom Olsen tried to befriend but gave up when he realized the man literally said nothing but curse words. The offense wasn’t much better, with Chief Runningwater and Captain Bacon looking like they had never played a minute of organized hockey. And then there was Walter Mitty, the left winger with the English name who spoke with a mysterious Irish accent and looked like his mind was always somewhere else. Mitty could play a bit, but the rest weren’t worth a damn.

 

But that didn’t stop the captors from running drills and working their players into the ground. Shooting target practice: Do you think you’re supposed to be Michal Wozniak or something? You’re shooting like you have five concussions… from yesterday! Working on big hits: You wimp, Jason Waterfalls hits better than you, and his name was taken from a girl group named “Tender, Love and Care!” Skating around cones: Man, if Greg Harbinson could see you right now, we wouldn’t even need to keep you here! He’d cut you and you’d have nowhere else to go! The constant put-downs never stopped against Karsten Olsen.

 

He couldn’t give up, however. He just needed to find a way, any way, out of his situation. It wasn’t going to happen at night; he was still locked in that godforsaken basement when he was supposed to be sleeping. It wasn’t going to happen at practice; Satan never let them have a break, besides. It wasn’t going to happen in the locker room; nobody talked in there, and anything out of the ordinary would be noticed immediately.

 

Day seven of “Thrashers” practice was Olsen’s lowest point. He slumped out of the locker room, dejected, waiting for the rest of the players to change before they could be smuggled back into a car, taken to their cold and foreboding home once again. Edward Eldred was the first player out, he greeted Olsen with a warm and friendly “Cocksucking motherfucker son of a bitch ass titty” before making his way outside. Chief Runningwater was next; he almost tripped over his own feet while attempting to open a door. Then, it was Walter Mitty.

 

Slyly, Mitty worked his way over to Olsen’s spot. “Ha-ware-ya today? Hey, hey kiddy,” Mitty said, clearly trying to not be noticed by the Thrashers representatives waiting just outside the arena. Olsen looked around, then made his way over. “You want a way out, don’tcha now?” Mitty asked. Olsen slowly nodded his head.

 

“Then I gotta way ta’ help, ya see,” Mitty said. “There be an exhibition at seven o’clock in the evenin’ this Thursday. The Thrashers versus them Minot Gladiators. They be letting us use the Atlanta rink and all. Should be a bloody good time. And the best part? There just happens to be a tunnel that leads from the ice to the parking lot if ye be quick enough…”

 

Olsen could see a glint in Mitty’s eye as he quickly scampered away, following Captain Bacon quickly so he wouldn’t be the one forced to ride in the trunk once again. But this time, Olsen didn’t even mind the cramped conditions on the way back to his basement. He saw a way out, and a plan was slowly forming in his mind.

[Ball 453]

Content: 3/3- A nice continuation of the story of Olsen's dissapearance. I for one am really starting to enjoy these. It was very well written and I like how you included some of the lesser known busts of the VHL in the story. Captian Bacon for the win!

 

Grammar: 2/2- Didn't catch a single mistake, well done

 

Appearance: 1/1- Yup

 

Overall: 6/6

 

Final: 6/6

Edited December 28, 2013 by sball66

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Claimed