AN: Skwisgaar, Toki, and Murderface made my spell-check have an aneurism. Not slash. Minor George Bush bashing.

Charles and Nathan Fool the World

The band was watching television in the living room. Toki and Skwisgaar were throwing cards in a hat, and Nathan was eating chips, as usual. Murderface sat with legs spread and head hanging back on the couch, sleeping loudly. A trail of drool ran down his face. He had his own couch, since no one ever wanted to be close to him.

"That's discustings," Skwisgaar said.

"Yeah, but at least he's wearing pants today," Nathan said. He switched to the National Geographic channel.

"Whys you do that, Nathans?" Toki asked. "That's borings."

"I like it. We're watching it," Nathan said.

"Yous a nerds," Skwisgaar said, and his mouth twitched into a sneer.

"I'm not a nerd," Nathan said. "Sometimes stuff blows up on here, and you get to see naked chicks sometimes."

"Ya, the Amazonianses," Skwisgaar said. "No hots ladies - they alls are too young. Turns on the Nickolodians."

Nathan frowned. "That's a kid's channel, Skwisgaar. Not metal."

"Yeah, buts they are havings the "Golden Girls" marathons today. I've been waitings all this weeks for it."

"After this," Nathan said. "Look, that volcano is messing stuff up."

"Bah," Skwisgaar said. "That's just Greenland. Greenland is dildoes."

"Well, we're watching it," Nathan said. Just as he turned back to the TV, the screen changed.

"This just in," a news reporter said. "hot hot news about the hot band Dethklok."

Murderface woke up upon hearing the band's name on the television. "Turn it upsch," he said.

"This picture was sent by an anonymous fan, showing Dethklok's lead singer and their band manager in a passionate embrace."

Nathan sat up suddenly. "WHAT?" he yelled, spraying chips everywhere and setting off the scream activated lighting.

Everyone stared at him with open mouths. Murderface closed his legs and scooted back against the couch. "Schick," he said. "I didn'tsch know you were a schausage fan."

"I'M NOT," Nathan yelled. The newscaster had been talking and Nathan had missed a lot of what she was saying. He hit the rewind button.

A picture of him and Ofdensen kissing flashed across the screen. There was no mistaking the two. Whoever had taken the picture had made sure that both their faces were showing. "Gay fans everywhere are ecstatic. Spontaneous gay pride parades have erupted in countries all over the globe. Gangs of gay fans have been fighting with each other to prove who loves Nathan the most. The band's manager, Charles Foster Ofdensen is now speculative territory as well. Who is this elusive suited man that has trapped the heartthrob's heart? More at 11."

Nathan just sat there. "Not good," he said.

"I didn't know you were the gays," Toki said.

"In my countries, we don't carings how the man lies in his beds," Skwisgaar said. "Is better than this dildoes countries where no ones lets peoples be doings what they wants."

"Are you gaysch too?" Murderface asked Skwisgaar. "Isch it contagiousch?"

"Na, I likes the ladies. You'd knows that's if you wasn't dildoes," Skwisgaar said.

"I'm not gay," Nathan said.

"It's ok, Nathans, yous is still my friends," Toki said.

"I gotta go do somethingsch - somethingsch not gay," Murderface said, and left.

Pickles came in, drinking straight from a vodka bottle. "Hey guys, what's up?"

"Nathan's is the gays," Toki said.

"I'M NOT GAY," Nathan shouted.

"I totally knew that he was gay," Pickles said

Nathan sat back and crossed his arms. He glared at the offending TV, which had gone back to showing pictures of lava destroying a picturesque village.

Charles Foster Ofdensen came in the room and stopped at the door. "Good morning boys," he said.

"Nothing good about it," Nathan grumbled.

"Ah, I see you saw the, um, newscast," Charles said.

"What the hell was that?" Nathan asked. "I was so drunk I don't remember last Tuesday at all. Did that happen then? Why didn't you tell me?"

The other band members watched quietly. Charles adjusted his glasses. "I was sober all week, as usual, and I assure you that didn't happen. Someone seems to be very good with Photoshop."

"What's a photgro-shops?" Toki asked. "Is that a porns machines?"

"No, Toki. It's a computer program that can fuse and distort pictures and make life difficult for celebrities."

"Photoshop? Are you saying someone made that?" Nathan asked.

"Apparently they did," Charles said.

"I'm gonna find the guy who did that and pound him," Nathan said.

Pickles snickered. "You're gonna pound him, Nathan?"

"Yeah. Wait, not like that. I'M NOT GAY."

"Calm down Nathan." Charles said. "We know you're not gay. We have bigger issues at hand right now."

"What's bigger than this?" Nathan asked. "I'll tell you what - nothing; that's what."

"Record sales are through the roof. Gay fans are buying every bit of merchandise they can find, and Ebay lists your older recordings for well over one million dollars each. I even seem to have my own, ah, fan club."

"So? I don't like people thinking I'm gay. This is brutal. I'll never get a date again."

"I doubt that Nathan. It may take awhile though. It wouldn't be a good idea to tell an angry mob you're not gay right now. The disappointment might just crash record sales in a way you might never recover from."

"Uh," Nathan grunted. He glared at the band's manager. "I'm not gay," he said.

"I understand that; however, your fans don't understand that fact, and I'm afraid that if you come out as a straight man, they might turn to violence. Or more violence, as the case may be. You boys have some very high-strung fans."

"I'm not fond of being known for this myself, but we might as well make the best of it."

"There is no 'best of it'," Nathan said.

"Ah, but there is," Charles said. "If we tell people you're not gay, no one will believe it. I have a plan. We'll do a press conference, say we have a relationship, and be seen in public together for a few months. Once we give the fans what they want, one of us is seen with a woman, we let the media expound on that, and come out as bi in another press conference. We "break up" publically, and we're free to date again. Life will be back to normal, and the fans don't kill us. We also get a whole new demographic."

"I don't like this," Nathan said.

"I'm not fond of it either, Nathan, but the alternative might be a lynching."

"I'm not gay," Nathan said.

"Yes, you've said that. For the record, I'm not gay either. I like petite redheads. Female petite redheads."

"What is petites?" Skwisgaar asked.

"Short, kind of…" Nathan said. Charles was surprised the lead singer knew the word, but Nathan occasionally surprised him.

"Its not a bads thinkings, Nathans," Skwisgaar said. "This countries is dildoes. You needs to gives the fans what they wants. Then you can be havings the womens again."

Nathan gave the band's manager a dark look. "I'm not kissing you," he said.

"That was never part of the plan, Nathan. It should be enough to be in public together. We'll spend a few nights together in a hotel." He noticed the singer had a panicked look. "I'll take the couch."

"Uh, ok. I guess."

"Now, if you don't mind, I think I've had enough of this for awhile. I have a press release to prepare, and things to do."

"What kinds of things?" Toki asked. "Can I helps? Toki is boards with nothings to do."

"No Toki. I think I'm going to find a fencing partner. I haven't been keeping up with my practice." He didn't add that he was feeling the need to do something masculine. He didn't like this situation any more than Nathan. He just decided to be more mature about it.

After a good practice, he went to the office to make some calls and arrange for certain information to be "leaked" to the media - places where he could be seen with Nathan, bits of their schedule, that sort of thing.

Charles had 82 messages waiting for him, most commenting or congratulating him on his recent relationship. He had an invitation from Oprah and the View. He decided to accept the one from the View, but he turned down the Oprah Show. It was a bad career move in a way, but he didn't know if he could fool Oprah. He was confident he was smarter than the women on the View though.

He had ten death threats, which he hadn't been expecting - rabid Nathan fans of both genders who wanted the singer for themselves and saw Charles as a threat.

He made an appointment at Chez Feu, a fancy French restaurant. It was new, and one of the most difficult places to get into in New York. As soon as the maitrede heard the name Nathan Explosion, however, he found a place for them.

"I'm not wearing a monkey-suit," Nathan said. "I don't see why we have to do this, anyway."

"We talked about this earlier," Charles said. "We just have to make a show for the fans."

"Alright, but there had better be plenty of food there, and I'm looking at hot chicks if I see any."

"That's fine. Just don't be obvious about it."

He met Nathan in the living room. The entire band was there, and Nathan was pointedly ignoring them, watching CNN like it was the most entertaining thing he'd ever seen.

"What is that?" Nathan asked.

"It's a tuxedo," Charles said.

"I know what it is," Nathan said. "I mean, why are you wearing it?"

"This is a very nice restaurant we're going to."

"I'm not wearing a monkey-suit," Nathan said.

"I didn't expect you to. You'll be fine just like you are. I am not a celebrity so I need to dress up, and I want the pictures taken tonight to look good. We need to make a splash, as it were."

"What pictures?" Nathan asked.

"I leaked our whereabouts to the press, and I'm sure there will be a few pictures in the tabloids tomorrow."

"You looks good," Skwisgaar said. "Is nice tuckdoes."

Murderface eyed Skwisgaar. "Gay," he said.

"I ams not the gays," Skwisgaar said. "Just ams not stupids like dildoes that are homo…homophobies."

"Thank you for the support Skwisgaar," Charles said. "I would like to remind everyone this is just for show. We're not gay."

"Yeah, whatever," Pickles said. "We're not hating on you. Go have fun on your date."

"I'm not gay," Nathan said as he left the room.

"He's so gay," Pickles said as soon as Nathan and Charles were out of earshot.

"Yeah, he's many gays," Skwisgaar said.

"It's not bad," Toki said. "He's still the same Nathans."

"Yeah, wellsch, I'm not gettingsch in the hottubsch with him anymore," Murderface said.

"Dat's dildoes," Skwisgaar said. "Yous not even his types."

"Whatsch if you're hisch type?" Murderface asked.

Skwisgaar tossed his hair so that it fell in front of his shoulders, framing his face handsomely. "I ams everyones type."

Pickles took a swig from the bottle and belched.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

When Nathan and Charles stepped out of the Deathlimo, they were blinded by flash photography. Charles extended his arm. Nathan ignored him.

"Take my arm," Charles whispered. "You don't have to smile, just pretend a bit for the cameras. It's just legerdemain."

"How is this like magic?" Nathan asked.

"It's a big show, ok? I'm impressed you know that word, though."

"I know some stuff," Nathan said. "I just don't like to let on. Being smart's not metal."

"Let's go. Your fans await you."

Nathan scowled even harder, but he took Charles' arm. Charles tried to project dignity as they made their way to the door, closely watched. Fans surrounded them, and Klokateers had to physically restrain them.

"I love you Nathan!" he heard from males and females.

Charles wasn't enjoying the publicity. He made his living being the man behind the scenes, and he didn't like the limelight. He eyed the far-to-slowly-approaching door with interest. He just wanted to get this night over with.

The cheers of Nathan's fans were eclipsed by a shout of, "you can't have him. He's mine!" Out of the corner of his eye, Charles saw something flying at him. He tried to duck, but felt a large object hit the side of his head. Everything went silent and black.

He woke up in a plush hotel room under silk sheets and a thick clean-smelling comforter. Someone had undressed him from the waist up. His head hurt badly, and when he reached up to touch it, he found thick bandages.

He heard the unmistakable rustling sound of someone reading a newspaper to his left. He turned and saw what he assumed was Nathan on the couch; without his glasses it was hard to be sure. He fumbled around on the nightstand and was rewarded with his spectacles. Nathan was wearing black glasses and reading a paper.

"It's about time you woke up," he said. "The doctors have already been in here twice."

"What happened?" Charles asked.

"Some crazy bitch hit you in the head with a brick. She's been taken care of though."

Charles didn't ask what "taken care of" meant. He knew by now. He'd had a few people "taken care of" himself.

"I recorded something for you," Nathan said. "I don't know if you'll like it or not, but I figured you'd want to see it." He grinned, which Charles took as a bad sign. Nathan's humor was dark and usually brutal.

Nathan set the paper down and reached for the remote. "You're reading the New York Times?" Charles asked.

"I told you I know some stuff. I don't speak eloquently, but I'm not stupid. See, I said eloquently. If I want to I can speak well."

"I can see you're not stupid," Charles said. What Nathan wanted him to see was the news coverage of the scene outside the restaurant. Someone had taken a video from a near-by roof, and there was clear footage of the attacker being mobbed by Klokateers just as Charles fell. Other bodyguards surrounded him and Nathan in a protective shell and blocked them from the camera, but not before someone got a good shot of Nathan grabbing Charles and lifting him as if he weighed nothing. Charles could see the dark mass move toward the Deathlimo, and he got a good view of Nathan putting him in the limo, where he lay bloodied and pale. The limo sped off and the scene changed to a single reporter.

Nathan paused the recording. "Is that gay enough for you? It looks like I saved a f(guitar riff)ing princess."

"Yeah, that was pretty gay. Well, this should keep the fans stimulated for a while. Maybe we can get back to Mordhaus in the morning and lay low for a bit. You guys have an album to work on, and I've got plenty of paperwork. I'm sure enough of the world has seen this to make you even more famous than you were, if that's possible."

"That's not all," Nathan said. "You've got fans too." He grinned again and started the recording. The reporter started talking.

"And just who is this Charles Foster Ofdensen?" she asked. "He's a shadowy business man, but we've managed to obtain this footage. Watch out, ladies and gents, this is hot."

The scene changed to the washroom of his gym, and showed Charles in front of the mirror. The shot was from inside the mirror, somehow. He would have to change gyms, now. It must have been taken right after his fencing bout. Charles watched in horror as he saw himself toweling off in slow motion, wearing nothing but a gym towel. With the video's speed reduced, it seemed as if he was caressing his face with a bath-towel, and the water droplets clinging to his chest didn't help the mood any. The TV station had used slow jazz as the soundtrack. It looked steamy in the most embarrassing way he could think of, and completely classless. He looked absolutely slutty. He watched himself wipe his chest and fluff his hair a bit, to get the water out. It looked suggestive and was probably top of the YouTube videos by now.

It flashed back to the reporter. "Wow," she said. "Nathan and Charles are now officially the hottest item in town. Just remember you saw it here first."

"F(guitar riff)ing aweful," Charles said quietly.

Nathan laughed so hard he snorted. "That's the gayest thing I've ever seen."

Charles lay back in bed. "Nathan, I think I want a few days off."

"How hard did you get hit, Charles? You've never taken time off."

"I just want to hide for a few days. Even I have my limits, and I think I just hit one."
"Yeah, that was not metal."

"No, Nathan, it was not metal. Not metal at all." He got out of bed and wobbled to the bathroom, grabbing a robe on the way. It was difficult to shower without getting the bandages wet, but he managed. After a good shower he was ready for bed, and prepared to settle in on the couch for the night. Nathan was already there, and even though it was obvious he was too large for it, he insisted on sleeping on the couch for the night.

"You took a brick to the head. Doctor said you have a concussion, so you take the bed."

It seemed strange to let Nathan sleep on the couch while he took the luxurious bed. He had always viewed himself as a servant, and the band's accommodations were always foremost in his head on trips. He had to admit, though, it was a good bed.

"If you're not careful, I'm going to think you care," Charles said.

"I do care," Nathan said. "I care about all the guys. I'm just not allowed to show it. We decided when we formed the band that there wouldn't be any intervention or caring of any kind. It's not metal."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Charles asked.

"I figure you'll keep it quiet," Nathan said. "It just seemed like something you'd understand."

In the morning, Charles put Nathan's pillow back on the bed and roughed up the covers.

"What's that about?" Nathan asked.

"It needs to look like two people slept here. We don't need the cleaning people telling the media we didn't sleep together."

"Uh," Nathan grunted.

As they left, Nathan grabbed the paper from where it lay in front of the door. He tucked in under his arm with a quick motion and a guilty look. "You really like the New York Times?" Charles asked.

"Yeah," Nathan said.

"I'll start ordering it delivered to Mordhaus, if you want."
"Nah, I told you, being smart's not metal."

"I'll have it delivered in my name. The guys don't have to know."

"Cool. Let's go. I want to get home."

"Sounds good to me," Charles said. "We have some fans and photographers outside. The Klokateers are waiting to escort us to the Deathlimo."

He had brought one of his best suits for the occasion. The bandages ruined the effect somewhat, but that couldn't be helped. He hadn't planned on the weather, though. His concussion was worse than he thought. As they stepped out of the air-conditioned building, he was slapped in the face by the 95 degree heat. He heard cameras and fans yelling, but the world around him faded to a tunnel of vision. The limo seemed to be a hundred miles away and getting farther every second.

"Charles?" he heard from a distance. "You alright? You don't look good."

"Not really," he said. "Too hot." He staggered, and Nathan caught him around the waist. He pulled Charles' arm around his shoulder and helped him to the limo. The driver pulled away without needing to be told where to go. They headed toward Mordhaus.

"Hey," Nathan said to the driver, "go to the closest hospital." They changed direction.

The cooler air in the limo restored Charles somewhat. "That's not necessary," Charles said. "I just need to get home. I'll be fine."

He felt a clumsy hand on his wrist for a moment, and then Nathan began pulling at Charles' suit jacket. "Nathan, stop. What are you doing?"

"I think you have heat exhaustion," Nathan said. "Remember last year when Murderface passed out in Australia? I read up on it after that. I should have remembered about concussions and the heat."

He felt much better without the heavy jacket, but Nathan wouldn't listen to him. "Your pulse is fast, you're breathing hard, and you're pale and flushed. Shut up. We're going to the hospital."

At least in the hospital he could get some rest. Nathan wandered off to do whatever it is Nathan did when he was bored, and Charles was left alone except for the two silent Klokatters assigned to guard duty.

Nathan wandered back eventually, and Charles asked the guards to step out and let them talk.

"Could you get my phone for me," Charles asked. "and my clothes? The nurses won't tell me where they are, and the Klokateers say they don't know."

"Nope. I hid them. The doctor says you can't work for two days. You wanted some time off, remember?"

"I wasn't serious. I really need to get some things done. The band doesn't manage itself, you know."

"I know," Nathan said. "We don't act like we see things like that, but we do."

"If I'm stuck here, you're stuck here too," Charles said.

"No I'm not," Nathan said. "I can just take the Deathlimo."

"I meant it would hardly look good for you to leave me here so quickly. We're still performing for the fans, remember. Don't act thick, Nathan. I know better now." Charles looked around for the TV remote. He wondered what the media was making of all this.

"That's not fair," Nathan said. "You can't use that against me."

"I won't, but don't try to fool me anymore. I've noticed that when we we're alone your vocabulary suddenly gets better and you understand a lot more complicated issues than when you're with the boys."

"Yeah, so? It's not important."

"I think it is important, Nathan. You're smarter than you let on. I'd like to know how smart."

"Why?" Nathan asked. "You do anything that needs intelligence. I'm just the singer. I don't need to be smart. It's not fun, and then I'd have to do more responsible things."

"Nathan, I might not be here forever. Then what? I already spent nine months away from you guys, and you almost didn't survive."

"I don't want to talk about that. You're just being morbid because you're sick."

Charles started to protest, but realized Nathan might be right. "Can you at least get the remote for me?"

Nathan shook his head. "No TV - doctor's orders. He doesn't want you getting excited."

"What's there to get excited about? I need to stay on top of things."

"It's nothing that won't wait for two days. I'll keep an eye on things, and if it looks bad I'll let you know."

A tentative knock sounded on the door. "Come in," Charles said, and Pickles stuck his head around the door.

"You guys decent?" he asked and snickered.

"Shut up," Nathan said. He left, knocking Pickles against the wall with his shoulder on the way out.

"Sheesh, isn't he the touchy one?" Pickles asked. "Hey, Charlie."

"Since when am I Charlie?" Charles was intrigued. He was seeing all kinds of new things about his boys lately.

"Since you became human, I guess." Pickles said. "I brought you something. I asked at the record store, and the guy told me your people like this stuff."

"My people?" Charles asked.

"Yeah, the gay crowd," Pickles said.

"Ah," Charles said, realizing where this was going. "You do know Nathan and I aren't really gay, right Pickles?"

Pickles winked. "Sure you're not gay. I'm not drunk either." He laughed and handed Charles a gift wrapped package. "Get better soon, ok Charlie?"

"Thanks, Pickles," he said. He opened the package to find a Barbara Streisand CD. He laughed the first honest laugh he'd had in years.

Toki and Skwisgaar came together. The Swede was hiding a small bottle between his arm and body. He handed it to Charles. "Here. I had to sneaks this ins."

"Absinthe? Thank you Skwisgaar. I didn't even know that was legal here."

"This kinds is nots legal," Skwisgaar said. "That has the reals woodworms in it. It's very goods for bad times."

Toki handed him a paper covered in macaroni. Two people were holding hands. Due to the simplicity of Toki's design, it was difficult for Charles to tell what it was. "Thank you, Toki, this is very nice."

Toki beamed. Poor kid just wants any kind of affection, Charles thought. "See, is yous and Nathans. He has the long hairs."

"It's very well done. I'll put it in my office." He saw Skwisgaar roll his eyes behind Toki. Charles was touched. He had always suspected that his boys actually did care about him, but to have proof made him almost tear up. But just almost; tears weren't metal. Nathan wasn't the only one who hid things because he was worried about his image.

Toki waited until Skwisgaar left and handed Charles Deddybear. "Yous can borrowing him, but I wants him back when yous comes to home."

He didn't expect a visit from Murderface. He knew the sour man was homophobic enough that this would put a damper on their odd friendship. He was surprised to hear him insulting the nurses outside. "I justshc wantsch to kiss you lady. You don't havesch to make suchsch a big deal."

When Murderface entered the room, he sported a red hand-shaped mark on his face. "Hello, William," Charles said.

"Yeah," Murderface said, and just stood there.

After a couple of minutes Charles asked, "would you like to sit down?"

"I don't wantsch to get too closesch. I don't wantsch to catch the gaysch."

"First, I'm not gay. Second, being gay isn't contagious."

"Ok, if your schure it's not contagiousch." He took a seat, but then he scooted away from the bed. "I wanted to schay I'm sorry for being mean earliersch."

"That's quite all right, William. I'm aware that you come from a repressed home."

"I wisch you wouldn't usesch such big wordsch. It makesch me feel dumb."

"Sorry, William. I'll work on it." He understood a bit of why Nathan toned it down around the boys now.

"Are you pregnantsch?" Murderface asked.

"What?" Charles asked. "Where would you get an idea like that?"

"When my sistersch was preggers she passed out in her prom."

"I'm certain I'm not pregnant, William. Only women get pregnant."

"Well, if you and Nathansch have babiesch, I'll babysitsch."

"Thank you, William. That's very mature of you." He tried to sound sincere. He was repressing a shudder at the thought of having babies with Nathan, and at the other idea of Murderface left alone with children.

"I gotsch to go do, you knowsh, not gay thingsch."

"Ok, goodbye William. Thanks for coming by. Could you do me a small favor?"

"No. I'm not gaysch," Murderface said.

"No, not that kind of favor. Could you get me a remote for the television? I want to see what's on the news, and it's the kind of TV that doesn't work without a remote."

Murderface shook his head. "Nathansch said we can't, and he wasch angry about itsch."

"Do you know why?" Charles asked. "What's happening out there?"

"Nothingsch important."

"Ok, well I'll see you guys at home as soon as I can."

Murderface left. So it was Nathan who wouldn't let him watch TV. He wondered why. There must be something specific the singer was worried about him finding out. He sat up, and when he didn't feel dizzy he stood experimentally. Nothing bad happened, so he grabbed the IV drip and headed toward the door, still in the hospital gown. He figured he could sneak into one of the adjoining rooms and steal a remote.

As he stepped outside, one of the Klokateers grabbed him by the arm. It was a very firm, no-nonsense grip. "Sorry, sir," he said. "Lord Explosion left explicit orders that you're not to be allowed out of this room until the doctors say you can leave. Also, no one but band members are allowed in."

He couldn't argue. He knew who paid the checks, and so did the guard. "Is there anything I can get you?" the guard asked. "All of our Lords told us to get you anything you wanted."

"Could you find a TV remote?"

"Anything but that, actually. And no newspapers, Lord Explosion told us." He released Charles' arm and pulled a card from his pocket. "Here, the guys got this for you. We couldn't find everyone, but a lot of them signed."

He wondered where they had managed to find a black get well card, but it was a death-metal band he dealt with, so they were probably used to finding everything in black. On the front it said, "Get well soon," in a dripping, blood-red font. On the inside it was signed with hundreds of numbers in various handwritings. The Klokateers gave up their names upon being branded with the sign of the gear, so in effect they had signed their names to the card by adding their numbers. In the bottom corner, one of them had written, "come home soon."

He closed the card. "Tell the guys this means a great deal to me, and I'll keep it in my office as a reminder."

The guard nodded. "Do you need any help back to bed sir?" Charles took the hint. They might be chummy with him, but Nathan's orders took precedence.

"I can make it that far myself, thank you," he said.

It was a grueling two days. The guys came by to visit occasionally, and Nathan brought him some books from his office. Toki brought him a few password-puzzle books, and Skwisgaar came by to chat for awhile. Murderface appeared once, mumbled a few things and left. All in all, it was entirely boring, and he was glad to be back in his office. Pickles was drunker than usual when he came to visit, and he ended up sleeping on the floor accidentally.

He was happy to see his office was how he left it, except for the massive amount of paperwork and messages to catch up on. He hung the card and Toki's macaroni art on the wall near his desk where he could see them. Most men his age had their own children's mementos, but he had his own sort of children. He called in one of the Klokateers, his own personal bodyguard.

"Have someone bring me the papers from the last two days," he said. Nathan's orders had been to keep Charles away from the papers while he was in the hospital, so the guard nodded and left. Nathan hadn't said anything about keeping things from him once Charles was released. When he returned, Charles thumbed through the papers, but he couldn't find what Nathan had been so worried about. On a whim, he told the guard to get him the major tabloids, and what he saw made him blush. It was too funny to take seriously, though. A picture of Nathan supporting him into the limo was labeled with the caption, "Princess Charles faints from the heat."

Nathan came in and pulled the paper out of his hands. "I tried to keep you from finding that," he said.

"I know," Charles said. "But why? It's embarrassing, but it's not the end of the world."

Nathan looked down at the picture. "Kind of felt like the end of the world to me. I hate that picture."

Charles looked again and saw the look on Nathan's face in the picture. He looked like he felt panicked, something Charles had never seen before. He looked worried.

"It's just a picture, Nathan. Nothing to get worked up over."

Nathan looked him in the eyes and said nothing. "What's really bothering you, Nathan?" Charles asked.

"The doctors said you could have had heat stroke. It turned out not to be so serious, but that's twice in two days you almost died."

Charles found himself wondering if Nathan was hiding more than this from him. "I've almost died several times before this, Nathan. Why does it mean so much now?"

Nathan looked away and grumbled something. Charles wasn't sure, but he thought it was something along the line of. "…like a dad…. Kind of."

"Ah, well, you boys are like my children to me, Nathan. It has made me think, though. I really might not be here forever, and you boys need to be able to take care of yourself."

"Ok," Nathan said.

"Ok? That's it?"

"Well, yeah," Nathan said. "What were you expecting?"

"The last time I tried to tell you about this, you protested that it was boring and you couldn't do it. Then you texted jokes to Toki."

"Yeah, but I was with the others then."

"I see. You can say more of what you mean now that they're gone?"

"Something like that, yeah."

"You know, Nathan, sooner or later your secret will come out. They're going to find out you're smarter than them."

"I'll deal with that when the time comes," Nathan said.

"They already accepted the idea you might be gay. Even though it's not true, I think it shows they're good enough friends to accept things they don't understand. Why don't you give them a chance?"

"I'll think about it," Nathan said.

"You could find a way to make being smart seem metal."

"How would I do that?" Nathan asked.

"I don't know. You're the smart one; you figure it out."

Nathan grinned. "I have an idea. This could be brutal."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

(Meanwhile, the Tribunal convenes)

The General paced in front of the tribunal with his hands clasped behind his back. He had his usual scowl. "Gentlemen, it seems Deathklok has a couple of gay members. This has not only raised their influence among the gay community, the straight community has begun to accept gayness as "metal". Deathklock is changing the world, again."

He didn't know the names of the tribunal's members. They didn't trust him with that. The man he thought of as "Bad Red Hair" spoke. "While anything that increases their influence on the world scene is troublesome, I fail to see how this is dangerous."

"It's dangerous for two reasons. The first is that their manager, Charles Foster Ofdensen has already had one attempt on his life. We have information that there is an organized assassination attempt in the planning. If he is killed, Nathan Explosion may go on a killing rampage the likes of which the world has never seen.

Direct your attention to our expert on pop culture, Dr. Manny Sondoefersenville. Dr. Sondofersenville?" He stepped aside, and the large screen lit up.

A man with thin glasses and spiky green hair pointed with a stick toward a picture of the French president with his arm around another man. "Here you see the president of France coming out of the closet. He said, and I quote, "Now that Nathan Explosion has made being gay metal, I see no reason to hide our relationship."

While this isn't surprising in itself, the reaction in the International community has been unexpected. World leaders all over the globe have suddenly begun declaring their own gayness. There are suspicions that some of these men aren't even gay, that they're just succumbing to political pressure to do whatever Nathan Explosion does."

The screen changed. It was divided into dozens of pictures of world and military leaders. "These men have come out of the closet as well. It's a strong indication that Nathan Explosion's influence is so powerful that some of the most important people in the world will do whatever he does."

Another image filled the screen. "Here you see former President George W. Bush. The man standing with him is a "wrangler from his ranch in Texas," as Bush said. President Bush was quoted as saying, "being gay is being American. Also, the voices in my head told me where the WMDs were. There, I said it. Fix that, Obama." The President then proceeded to do a little dance."

He stepped away from the screen. The General stepped back to center stage, where he liked to be. "So you can see the problem. We must stop Dethklok."

Bad Red Hair spoke up. "Other than the attack on Ofdensen I fail to see why some gay world leaders are a problem. This is a new age, General. It doesn't make sense to be so concerned about such a small thing."

"It's not small," the General said. "We're lucky this time. Dethklok is doing something harmless, but it shows how easily they can control not only the public but our most important politicians and other culture makers. If they decided to rule the world, there would obviously be nothing to stop them. I can have my men in Mordhaus in 48 hours. All I need is the go signal."

The one he thought of as "Creepy Old Guy" leaned forward. "No," he said. "Dethklok is too smart for this obvious ploy. There is more going on here than is apparent. We must be patient."

The General left as the meeting ended, convinced he was the only sane man in the entire group.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Back at Mordhaus, Charles was trying unsuccessfully to conduct a meeting.

"Stop beings the cry-babies," Skwisgaar said. "Your grandmother is the hots laidies. She was goods to be with."

Toki clenched his fists. "You are dildoes."

"Ah, guys, could we handle personal problems later? I've been out of the loop for a few days, and we have a lot to go over."

Pickles dozed drunkenly, and Murderface picked his nose and flicked buggers at the sleeping man. Nathan watched the scene with arms crossed.

Skwisgaar sneered at Toki. "Yous is just worried I could be yous new grandfathers. Is funnies."

Toki turned pale. "Yous wouldn't. Not to marries my Nanas. It's too horribles."

"No, I don't marries the womens. I just gives to them the Skwisgaar for a nights."

Charles closed his briefcase. "I'm not doing this. We'll try again tomorrow. Someone wake Pickles up. Good day, gentlemen."

"Wait," Nathan said. "Guys, I know it's boring and stuff, but we need to, uh, listen."

"Why?" Skwisgaar asked. "Is no reasons to listens. Manager man is handling all the smart things for us."

"Skwisgaar, what happens if I'm not here anymore?" Charles asked. "What will you do if you don't understand how your own band works, hire a new manager that might not have your interests at heart?"

Skwisgaar blinked. "We hires no new manager mans. Yous are our managers mans. It's not alloweds for yous to die. You couldn't dies the other time that you got beats up so bads"

Charles touched his scar self-consciously. "Allowed or not, it does happen. I almost died the other day. I want you boys to be protected."

"Psh," Skwisgaar said, and waved his arm dismissively. "Yous are just havings the sad days, or somethings. Is stupids to talkings about this."

"Yeah," Toki said. "I don't likings all this dead talkings." He picked up his phone and began texting slowly.

"Uh, guys," Nathan said. "We can do this. We're not dumb."

All of them looked at him. Pickles opened one bloodshot eye and sat forward in his chair. Charles watched expectantly. He had always felt they could do more if they just applied themselves.

"Nathan, we're just musicians," Pickles said. "We can't do all this math and contract terms and stuff. Have you ever looked at it?"

"Yeah, it's brutal, but we've done stuff we had to be smart for before."

"Like whatsch?" Murderface asked. "Name one thingsch."

Nathan's brow furrowed. "Well there was that time… or maybe when… er…"

"Maybe I can help here," Charles said. "Toki, you managed to get out of your, um, predicament in Norway, figure out how to get a passport, and learn English. Perhaps you aren't aware, but English is the second most difficult language to learn."

"But I didn't use the smarts," Toki said. "I just listens and talks. The English just comes to me after sometimes."

"Yes, but it took brains to bring it up to a conversational level."

He turned to Skwisgaar. "I've had a lot of conversations with you about Sweden. You understand the culture and politics. You even keep up with the art trends. I've never met anyone who knows as much about Swedish Modern furniture as you."

"Ja, but Sweden is intererestings," Skwisgaar said.

"It's interesting because you made it interesting," Charles said. "I know you might not believe this, but not many people here would find Sweden interesting."

"They are the dildoes," Skwisgaar said.

"Perhaps, but at any rate you do have an in depth understanding of a complicated concept. That means you could apply yourself to other complicated concepts."

"And Pickles you're…" he paused. What did Pickles do that was intelligent? Anything?

Pickles shook his bottle at him, "Na, that's ok Charlie. I know I'm dumb."

Pickles calling him Charlie reminded him of something. "Actually, I just thought of it. You were very open-minded about this whole business with Nathan and I, and that means you can change your opinions to suit reality."

"I don't understand what you're talking about," Pickles said.

"He means you didn't hate on us, and that means you're able to change your mind. You have to be smart to do that."

Pickles looked at Charles. "Why didn't you just say that instead of using all those words?"

"That's just the way I speak. I had the chance for an education. That doesn't mean you're dumb; it just means you lack the vocabulary to express yourselves. And I had the opportunity to experience a wider range of philosophies."

They all gave him a blank look. "He learned how to talk smart in school. We could too if someone taught us," Nathan said.

"How come you understand all this all of a sudden, Nathan?" Pickles asked. "Did being gay make you smarter or something?"

"I'M NOT GAY!" Nathan yelled.

"He's not gay, Pickles. Nathan's the band's writer. He has to have a command of the English language to be a competent song writer."

Pickles looked at Charles. "Dude, what?"

"He means I needed to be smart so I could write."

"Oh," Pickles said. "That's ok, I guess. I mean, writing metal lyrics is pretty metal. If you need to be smart to do that, I guess it's ok."

"That's very magnanimous of you, Pickles," Charles said.

Pickles gave him a blank look.

"Way to go, Pickles," Nathan translated.

Charles noticed Murderface looking at the floor with a scowl. He knew that look; it often came right before he relieved his frustrations and hostilities by urinating on random objects. Charles tried to think of anything Murderface had ever done that was intelligent in any way, and he came up with a blank.

"You made the sandscape," Nathan said.

"You hated thatsch," Murderface said.

"Yeah, but it must have been a lot of work."

"Not really, I justsch told some of the Klokateersch to find me cool stuffsch that looked likesch it'd be in a desertsch."

Silence followed. Pickles coughed uncomfortably and took a swig of whiskey.

"I knoes!" Toki said. "You learns to play the guitars!"

"Yeah, scho?" Murderface said.

"Not everyone can play a musical instrument," Charles said. "I for one never could get the knack, even though I tried to learn cello in high school. It shows a certain amount of creative genius."

Murderface stood up and walked over to Charles. "Are you makingsch fun of mesch?" he asked in what Charles thought of as his pre-explosion voice.

Charles made a conscious effort not to wipe off Murderface's spittle. He didn't need the bassist any less stable than he already was, and calling attention to his deficiencies was the quickest way to set the insecure man off on a rampage.

"Not at all William," he said. "I respect your dedication to your art."

Murderface looked at Nathan. "Do you getsch any of this sh(guitar riff)?"

"I think he means it took smarts to learn the bass."

"Oh," Murderface said and sat down. He glared at Charles. "That's ok."

Charles picked up his briefcase. "That's enough for today. I'll see you boys here tomorrow at 4:00 P.M."

"What about the other stuff?" Pickles asked.

"I need to think about this. You did ask me to "make it not boring" once. I was frustrated and ignored that request. I think I've underestimated you boys."

After he left Pickles said, "cello. That's so gay."

Everyone laughed except Nathan, who just glared.

"Oh, come on dude," Pickles said. "We're not hating on your boyfriend. It's just funny is all."

Charles heard Nathan all the way in his office. "I'M NOT GAY!" bounced in echoes all through Mordhaus.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Deep in the dark catacombs of sewers beneath the city, the women who loved Nathan plotted against Charles Foster Ofdensen. Their leader, a tall buxom brunette with a severe hairdo, spun and slashed at an effigy of the band's manager with a boot stiletto. The head fell off the dummy. She landed gracefully and looked at her sisters.

"Ofdensen will not stop us. With him out of the way, we will create the Nathanites. Nathan Explosion will be ours."

She drank the cheers of the group like so much sweet wine.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

Charles was awakened that night by a banging on his door. He stumbled to the door, and Nathan pushed his way in. "I need your help with something," Nathan said.

"I really hope someone's bleeding or something's on fire."

"Nah, I just need to know if you have a Shakespeare book."

Charles found his glasses and the world jumped into unwelcome focus. "Yes. I own the complete works of Shakespeare. Why do you need that at 4:00 A.M?"

"I always write in the morning," Nathan said. "I was thinking that I read Macbeth once. There was a lot of killing and blood. The king and that hot crazy queen were metal. It's a brutal story."

"It is that," Charles said. "I fail to see where this is going, however."

"You said I should make being smart metal. I'm going to make Shakespeare metal."

"That's one of the best ideas you've had yet, Nathan. I'm really proud of you. This will get kids everywhere to read. You're doing something really good."

"Huh? I don't know about all that. I just don't want people making fun of me when they find out I'm smart."

"That works too, I guess," Charles said.

Pickles walked past the room on his way to the kitchen. He snickered. Charles realized he was half-dressed with Nathan in his bedroom. Pickles was never going to believe he was straight.

"Nathan, next time close the door behind you. If you want to convince the band we're not gay, this doesn't look good."

"Yeah, I gotta go anyway. I have some ideas, but I can't remember the story very well."

"Don't forget the press conference is tomorrow. It's very important."

"Ugh," Nathan grunted.

Charles leant him the book and tried to go back to sleep, but his mind was spinning with the possibilities this presented.

The next day was sunny and clear, warm for a press conference, but otherwise perfect. The band actually talked Charles into wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. He knew it made sense in the hot weather, but he suspected they just wanted to see if they could talk him out of the suit. Knowing them there was probably a bet.

They had rehearsed Nathan's speech, but Charles knew he didn't do canned speeches. When it came time, Nathan always used bits of what he prepared and did the rest by the seat of his pants.

"Uh, I'm supposed to tell you about some stuff that's been happening lately," Nathan said. "Remember Duncan Hills Coffee? I'm going to make everything metal, and the first rule of metal is, "don't give a f(guitar riff)."

People laughed, and a few cheered. "You're hot!" came from a fan somewhere.

He glanced back at the band. Charles gave him a nod of encouragement. "Being gay is metal because I don't give a f(guitar riff) what people think about who I date. Anything I do is metal because I don't give a f(guitar riff) about what people think, and if you don't give a f(guitar riff) you're metal too."

Loud cheers erupted in the audience. "Dethklok, Dethklok!" the people chanted. Charles was relieved. He hadn't been sure Nathan could pull it off.

A reporter shouted, "how long have you been together?"

Nathan shook his head. "I don't do questions." He walked back and sat by the band. He crossed his arms and glared at the world, just because he was Nathan Explosion and he liked to glare at things.

Charles stepped up to the mike and adjusted his glasses. He knew he was as visually appealing as Nathan, and he felt gratified to see a few of the reporters blush. Maybe wearing the muscle-showing t-shirt hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

"Thank you for coming. Nathan has never liked to answer questions at press conferences, so if you'll direct them to me, I'll be happy to oblige."

He fielded the questions like the pro he was, lying and twisting the truth to make a highly publishable fiction. He told them they had been together for a short time, they had no long term plans, and he didn't want to give out personal information. One reporter asked him about his work-out regimen, and Charles directed him to the band's website, where he said that information would be available later in the day. He made sure to give the reporters just enough to keep them searching for more.

The band took the Deathcycle, and Charles took the Deathlimo. He congratulated himself on a job well done.

The meeting was more rowdy than usual, and that's saying a lot. Charles had foreseen their exuberance, and he ordered a Kloketter to stand by for janitorial duty after the meeting. He wasn't let down. As he entered the conference room, Toki and Skwisgaar were playing a dangerous and bloody game of "Catch the Murderphone", Pickles was hanging off the chandelier doing an ape impression, Nathan was sitting and glaring.

He heard Murderface yell, "pee pee time!" This was why he never put any good furniture in the conference room. The boys always went nuts after press conferences and shows. They fed off of the spotlight.

He didn't try to contain them, other than to make sure Murderface only urinated on inanimate objects. Charles waited for a good 20 minutes for them to calm down. Eventually, Pickles got tired of the chandelier, Toki and Skwisgaar got tired of being cut by the Murderphones, and Murderface ran out of urine.

Always prepared, Charles handed Toki and Skwisgaar bandages and Murderface some hand sanitizer.

"Whatsch thisch?" Murderface asked.

"Hand sanitizer. I thought you might need it," Charles said.

"Thanksch," Murderface said, and pulled off the top. He sniffed it and drank the glop in one mouthful.

"That's not for drinking, William," Charles said.

"At least he smells better," Nathan said.

Murderface belched at him, and Nathan leaned away. "Brutal," Nathan said as he tried to wave the alcohol drenched air away.

"I have some paperwork for you boys, "Charles said, which brought groans from the band members.

"I thoughts yous goings to make these not borings," Toki said.

"You might like this a lot better than the usual meetings, Toki," Charles said.

"How comsch mine isch covered in plastisch?" Murderface asked.

"Ah, I laminated that especially for you," Charles answered.

"Cool," Murderface said. He wiped some spit off the front cover. "Thatsch aweschome."

They opened the booklets, and Pickles said, "hey, there's pictures."

"Yes, Pickles. I thought this might make the meeting less boring. Consider this an experiment."

He had covered the pages with drawings. Instead of massive amounts of writing, he had spaced the paragraphs widely and used large fonts. Pictures representing the concepts were next to each paragraph.

"I likes this," Skwisgaar said. "You used the small words."

"Yes, I decided that for now we'll use smaller words, and then when you boys learn larger words we'll use them."

"Why do we need big words?" Pickles asked. "This works."

"Not everyone is going to use small words, Pickles. I'll try to teach you one concept about the business side of Dethklok per week."

He broke the meeting into five minute segments, and it took about an hour to cover 20 minutes worth of material. It was worth the trouble though. When the meeting was over he felt like they understood the concept he needed to present to them, at least at a basic level.

When they were done he gave them all a sticker with a Gibson guitar on it. "Every meeting you make it through and understand what I'm talking about, you get a sticker."

He hated treating them like children, but if that was what it took he was willing to change his style.

He went to bed with a feeling of accomplishment, but he couldn't sleep. He had too many things to think about. As he lay in bed thinking about work, he heard a sound outside his door. He had worked with Dethklok long enough to recognize the sound of a body hitting the floor. He heard two distinct thuds.

The rapiers Charles kept over his bed weren't just for show. He pulled one down and waited. The door opened and shut quietly, and he saw a silhouette slip into the room. The form was decidedly female. He decided to make the first move before his attacker could adjust to the dimmer lighting. He lunged forward, aiming for her heart. She moved deftly aside and rolled out of the way.

They both took defensive stances. "What do you want?" he asked.

"You can't have Nathan Explosion," she said. Her voice was grating to him.

"This again? You know, Nathan likes his women less psychotic." He was baiting her, trying to see how she'd react.

"You don't know us," she said. "We will have his children. These children will rule the world."

He decided this must be a fertility cult based around Nathan. She leapt at him and struck out with her foot. He saw a glint of metal in the dim light. He dodged and struck at her leg with the rapier. He scored a glancing blow. Charles couldn't be sure because of the poor lighting, but he didn't think he caused much damage.

She moved quickly out of range. He decided he'd lost the advantage and turned on a lamp. Charles saw he was facing a well-muscled woman wearing a revealing leather outfit. Her leg was cut where he had hit her. It wasn't deep, but it was first blood, and that was important.

"I won't let you hurt Nathan," he said.

She smiled. "So you know what comes next?"

"I assume you'll kill Nathan so others can't repeat your experiment."

"Not just Nathan, but all of Dethklok. There will never be another group like the Nathanites. I'll see to that."

They made tentative swipes at each other, testing defenses. "Why don't you call for help?" she teased.

He didn't answer. He wasn't going to let her bait him.

"I killed the other guards," she said. "There's no one to help you this time."

He had assumed that. His real fear was that the boys would become embroiled in this drama. He knew she wouldn't hurt Nathan until she was finished with him, but the others were probably fair game.

They lunged and parried, but neither could find a direct hit. Both had several deep cuts, but nothing worse. He should have had the advantage with his rapier, but he was tiring more quickly than usual. They were soon bleeding enough from their numerous cuts that they both began to show signs of tiring. Charles noticed her slowing a bit; her movements were becoming less confident.

He was much worse off. "You're looking rough," she said, and smirked.

He was feeling rough, too. Charles panted for breath, and sweat kept getting into his eyes. All of his muscles protested. He was beginning to feel weak and shaky. He could usually fight for two or three times as long before he tired.

"Haven't quite gotten over your little concussion and heat problem have you? You didn't think I'd pick a random day for this, did you? Our sister paid with her life to wound you, but she did open the door for me."

He wiped the sweat from his face, and he noticed the grip on his sword wasn't as strong as it had been when he first attacked. He needed to end this soon. He attacked more aggressively, but he was just using up energy more quickly. At this rate, he knew he wouldn't last much longer.

He feigned a stumble, as if he was too weak to stand. She fell for the trap and sent a roundhouse kick that would send the stiletto across his face and probably through his eyes. He'd been fencing long enough to judge the angle, and he fought the instinct to avoid the blow. She had left herself open in her arrogance. He could save his life momentarily, or he could stab her exposed heart and protect his boys. Either way he was probably going to die.

He wouldn't let her destroy an empire he had literally bled to build. He leaned into the blow, putting all his force behind it. At the last moment possible he pulled his head back and down to try to lessen the impact, but they both fell with screams of pain.

He put his hand to his head and felt a massive gash reaching from his left eyebrow across his forehead upward to end just over his right ear. It was bleeding heavily. He heard footsteps running his direction, and he could only hope it was friends of his and not hers.

He heard Pickles first. "Charlie?" he asked tentatively. "I heard yelling."

Skwisgaar pushed Pickles aside and moved into the room. He was holding a battleaxe that he favored for music videos. "Whatever happens here is the finished," he said.

Charles lay stunned, watching the scene before him. It almost felt like he was watching television.

"Sh(guitar riff)," Pickles said. "He killed a bondage chick. Do you think he was cheating on Nathan and she turned on him?"

"No," Skwisgaar said. "He would be wearing the bondages too then." He moved over to the woman, knelt to get a closer look and then chopped off her head with one quick blow of the ax. "Needs to be safe heres," he said.

Charles saw Pickles crouch in front of him. He tried to talk, but all that came out was a groan. Pickles reached for his hand. "Sh(guitar riff). That's bleeding a lot. Let me see."

When he moved Charles' hand he cursed again. "Skwisgaar, what should we do?" he asked, and the panic leaked into his voice.

"I don't knowing how to helpings injuringries," Skwisgaar said. "Go and gets the doctors."

Pickles left. Charles began to feel numb and cold. Skwisgaar must have noticed because he said. "You are shakings. I think you are having the shocks."

He pulled the comforter off Charles bed and covered him with it. "That should help until returns the doctor. Don't dies. It would hurts Nathans many times."

Charles saw the world as if from someone else's point of view, like he was outside of his body looking down from above.

"Skwisgaar, what is happens here?" Toki's frightened voice came from the hallway.

"Toki stays outside! You are not needings to see this!" Skwisgaar said, but it was too late.

"Ofdensens?" Toki asked. His voice was almost a whisper. "Is he deads, Skwisgaar?" He began to cry.

"Don't be the cry-babies, Toki. He does not ever dyings. You knows that."

"I'll be fine, Toki," Charles said.. "It's just a cut, really." His head throbbed with every word.

"I will gets for you Nathans," Toki said, and ran out of the room.

Nathan arrived a few minutes later. "What the f(guitar riff) happened here?" he asked.

"Ofdendsens was almost killeds," Skwisgaar said. He pointed to the corpse of Charles' attacker. "I cuts off her head for to be safe."

"Yeah, good idea. You never know, right?" Nathan said. "I wonder why she was after him?"

"She wanted to kill you," Charles said with an effort. Nathan had to lean close to hear him.

"Brutal," Nathan said.

The doctor and Pickles arrived. They allowed him to stay in his own room instead of going to the hospital wing, but there were numerous cuts that required stitches.

Charles passed out sometime during the third set of stitches, and he woke up about five hours later attached to an IV and covered in bandages.

Toki was sitting by his bed, with his head and arms on the bed. He had fallen asleep with the upper half of his body on the bed, right next to Charles. Charles reached out and patted his head like a puppy.

"Hey Toki. That doesn't look comfortable," he said.

Toki's head jerked up, and he rubbed red swollen eyes.

"Ofdensens? I thought yous was goings to be deads."

"I won't die from a few bad cuts. I assure you."

"Is not what doctors said. They said you might have bleeds too much. They gave you many bloods."

"Well, I'm alive, so don't worry too much about it, ok? Why don't you get some proper rest? And thanks for being here."

Toki beamed with pleasure at the affection. It wasn't until he left that Charles noticed Deddybear had been tucked under his arm.

He sent Klokateers scrambling to find out anything they could about the dead woman. It bothered him that there were others like her out there somewhere.

Murderface came in. "Heysch, I heard you gotsch beat up by a dead chicksch."

"It didn't happen quite like that William."

Murderface got too close for comfort and stared at Charles' forehead. He reached out and poked the bandage.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't do that William," Charles said.

"Skwischgaar said yousch were cutsch all over."

"Yes, but I might remind you that I survived while she did not."

He stared intently at Charles and then suddenly reached out and pulled a bandage off Charles' arm. "Huh," he said. "Who knewsch?"

"William, is there a reason you're doing this? Because that didn't feel good." Charles said, trying hard to keep his patience. "Don't do that again."

"You bleedsch blood," Murderface said.

"Of course I bleed blood. What were you expecting?"

"I don'tsch know. I thoughtsch maybe robot juisch. It mustsch be red robot juisch."

"Are you satisfied?" Charles asked.

Murderface just stared at him. Finally he said, "yes. Yes I am," and left the room.

Skwischgaar was waiting outside. "That Murderface is being crazies," he said.

He handed Charles a tube of ointment. The words were in Swedish, and there was a picture of a young shepherdess on the label.

"It's for not scarrings," Skwisgaar said. "You will have bad lookings without it. Is made from the tears of beautifuls virgins. Is very rare for to be finding beautifuls virgins."

"Do you have much need for this?" Charles asked. He'd never noticed any scars on Skwisgaar.

"No, it is for the emergencies. I have not be needings it yet."

"Thank you Skwisgaar. It's a very thoughtful gift."

Skwisgaar looked pointedly at Charles' chest. "You are havings many scars, Ofdensens. How is business mans getting so many scars?"

He was referring to the many marks crossing Charles' chest, left by stab wounds, cuts, a few bullet wounds, claws, and worse things.

"Those nine months I was gone were…difficult. Let's leave it at that."

"Why you are never telling us where you weres?"

Charles remembered the months of torture, with shadowy men asking him questions about Dethklok.

"I don't really know where I was, Skwisgaar. There's nothing useful I learned." It was true. If it hadn't been for a double agent, he wouldn't have escaped. He never even knew where he was held or why. Since his rescuer had been killed during his escape, he had no information at all about the nine months he was held captive.

"I'd rather not talk about it," he said. "It was a bad time."

"Is for yous to be choosings," Skwisgaar said, and left.

One of the Klokateers came in with information on the dead woman. "She was one Triana Jimson, born in Chicago in 1984, and a devoted fan of Lord Explosion's. We tracked her movements up to about six months ago, but then she lost her job as a geneticist and went underground. She was known to have radical sentiments about starting her own ruling class."

"That sounds like what she told me," Charles said.

"We found her followers. None escaped alive."

"How did she get in?" Charles asked. "Where did the security fail?"

"We're not sure. She was identified as a recent Klokateer recruit. The qualification procedure should have weeded her out. It's designed to be brutal enough to discourage all but the most worthy."

"Yes, but if she was enough of a fanatic to go through the process for the sake of killing Nathan, she could have been so obsessed she was able to handle the qualification process."

He managed to get the doctors to let him go so he could hold a quick meeting with the band. They all sat quietly.

"Boys, what's going on?" he asked.

"Nothing," Nathan said. "You wanted a meeting. We're here."

He looked around him for traps. "Really? There's no other reason? I'm not going to get glued to a seat or have snakes drop from the ceiling?" He glanced around, but he didn't see anything suspicious.

"No. We just figured you've had enough for now. We're trying to help here."

"And we wants the stickers!" Toki said.

"Shut up Toki," Nathan grumbled.

Charles relaxed. Good, they were just trying to get something. He might make it through the meeting unscathed.

"If you wantsch a schensch of familiarity, I cansch pee on schomething for you," Murderface offered.

"No thank you William. That's quite alright."

"Justsch trying to be helpful," Murderface said.

"And the sentiment is appreciated. Now, we need to discuss security," Charles said.

"Ja," Toki said. "I don't wants to sleeps now, with the crazies around."

"I'm considering instituting mandatory psychological testing. We are running into problems though. The type of people who become Klokateers are, well, let's just say they're differently sane."

They looked at each other. "Dude, smaller words," Pickles said.

"We'd like to be sure they're not nuts, but only crazy people run around in black hoods getting neck tattoos and killing people. We're working on that now."

Nathan had the unfocused look he often got when he was thinking about lyrics. "She snuck in like Macbeth. Brutal."

"What the f(guitar riff) are you talking about?" Pickles asked.

"Ja, who is this Macbeths? Is he someone else who tried to breaks in?" Skwisgaar asked.

"Huh? No. It's Shakespeare. Shakespeare is brutal."

Charles sat back and let Nathan take over. He was becoming more of a leader, even if he didn't want to take charge. The others naturally followed his lead, at least when they were sober.

"Shakespeare? You mean that crappy poetry where the guys run around in stupid pants and junk?" Pickles asked.

"Yeah, that's dildoes," Skwisgaar said.

"Na, check it out. There's witches, and kings, and murder, and a hot crazy chick. It's brutal."

"I likes that," Toki said.

"Yeah, it'd make a good song," Nathan said.

XXXXXXXXXXXXx

The next few months went by quickly, with the band learning more complicated concepts and beginning to think for themselves. He really felt they might be alright on their own. At least they wouldn't get swindled. By the time "MacDeath" was ready to be performed, Charles was dating a divorce attorney from a large law firm in New York. The tabloids made a big deal out of it, and Charles and Nathan were able to let it leak that they had broken up. His new girlfriend didn't know it had been a fake relationship with Nathan. He was just a high-society trinket for her, a party favor in a suit. He didn't feel bad for using her in his plan; she was using him, too.

Her name was Amy Langster, and she was considered a real catch among her set. People congratulated him on landing such a powerful, rich woman, but Charles thought she was just boring. He was used to being around people who were much less sane, and he'd developed a taste for eccentric company. Charles decided to take her to the concert and then tactfully let the uncomfortable relationship die a natural death before she died an unnatural death from being around Dethklok too much. People around them tended to die at an alarming rate.

They arrived separately, and when she met him she wrinkled her nose. "You're wearing that?" she asked, and Charles felt a surge of anger. Who was she to look down on him? Just a few years ago he might have said something like that himself, but he had aged decades in the short time he had worked with the band. Dethklok was changing him as much as Charles was changing them, and he was enjoying learning to relax and enjoy life.

"It is a death metal concert, Amy. Jeans are much more appropriate than a cocktail dress."

"I thought you were classier than this, Charles," she said. "First the metal music every time I come over, and now this. I don't want to be seen on TV with someone in jeans. Goodbye. Don't call me." She left, and he was glad.

"I like metal," he called after her. "If you could get the stick out of your ass maybe you'd have some fun." He couldn't believe he just said that. The boys were having a bad influence on him.

"Dude, did you just get dumped?" Pickles asked.

"I think I did, but that's ok. She wasn't very, um, metal."

Pickles stepped back and looked him over. "The jeans aren't bad - a whole lot better than the suit. Here. He ripped Charles' shirt across the front so that his ribs showed. "There, shows off your scars now. That's about as metal as you're gonna get, I'm afraid."

"That was a new shirt!" Charles said.

Pickles rolled his eyes. "Dude. No one wears new stuff to a concert. What are you thinking?"

There were always a pile of groupies waiting for any attention from the band. The band favored tall leggy types except for Skwisgaar, who liked the seniors. Those who weren't their types were allowed to hang around, but they usually weren't noticed.

One of the want-to-be groupies linked her arm in Charles'. "Come on honey," she said, with a thick Southern accent. "I'll be your date. If you were good enough for Nathan, you're good enough for me."

He started to protest. He didn't need the band's castoffs; he had more self-esteem than that. Then he looked over…and down. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall, and she had gorgeous red hair and black death-metal make-up and long black nails.

She touched the scar over his eye. "Brutal scars. Are those real? "

"I assure you they are quite real," he said.

Skwisgaar's ointment had helped, but he still had a jagged red scar running across his head. Apparently even the tears of beautiful virgins had their limits. He was hardly the dapper young man he'd been when he started working for Dethklok. He might be square to them, but to the ivy-league set he was the bad boy. He understood why the boys liked that feeling. Being the most brutal one in the room was intoxicating, even if the rest of the room was filled with trust fund babies. He enjoyed the side glances and whispers he got when he walked into a room full of colleagues who slept in safe, suburban, life-sucking brick homes.

He walked her to his set of seats. He hoped Amy saw this on the news later. She'd probably expect him to be devastated. He looked down at his new date. He loved the short chicks; there was such a bird's-eye-view of cleavage.