DethloveKlok

"According to our latest sources, Nathan's daughter Judy Explosion has returned to Mordhaus," Senator Stampingston was relaying to the rest of the Tribunal. "She's graduating high school and will no doubt be going off to college soon."

"Do you think the ADK's will try something again? What with a prime target being so close?," Vater Orlaag, the long-bearded member, asked.

The ADK's, or Anti-Dethklok League, had vowed to destroy the band for the good of the world. Their death metal and brutal ways was seen as a danger to the public, their hold on the minds of millions of young people begging to be broken. They were similiar to the old Revengencers, but the ADK's were a widespread, even more secretive network of anti-fans bent on Dethklok's destruction. Self-righteousness sufficed instead of simple revenge for these souls.

"We could play the ADK's and Dethklok against each other," volunteered Crozier. It was well-known what his feelings on Dethklok were.

"I should like to see what they all do next," says Selacia, the man who headed their meetings. "What will be, will be."

His was always the final word on the matter.


Murderface and Dick Knubbler were mixing the latest release by Planet Piss, the bassist's side project. Or trying to, at least. The producer, Knubbler, had lost his eyes in an underwater incident and now had bionic implants, which observed in differing directions at once like a chameleon. Suddenly Judy popped up beside Murderface, startling him.

"Agghhh!," he cried. "Where'd you come from?"

"Hahaha," she laughed, nudging him. "Just wanted to try my hand at recording something."

"What? You?," Murderface snorted. "We're bischy with Planet Pissh."

"Well, we're not makin' any more progress with this song right now, William. Mebbe coming back to it later would help. I'd like to see what the kid's got," countered Knubbler.

"Cool! I brought my guitar. Could I warm up a bit first?," said the woman excitedly.

"Whatever you like," answered Knubbler in his nasally voice.

"Aww, dammit," Murderface groused.

The young woman plugged in, adjusted her strap, took a deep breath, and began. She started with some slow, easy licks and power chords, causing Murderface to roll his eyes in disdain, then grew faster. More melody, faster, then bending notes and wrenching out blasts of feedback that seemed to fit into the guitar tapestry she was building. Murderface's eyebrows raised as she picked up more speed, finishing with a deep, low clang that rang out in the studio.

She was no Skwisgaar or Toki, but she was damn good.

"That was really good," Knubbler praised. "You have some talent. A little green, though."

"Not bad," was all Murderface could say.

"Would ya like to, ah, maybe lay down a couple guitar tracks for this Planet Piss song? Something about it is buggin' me," the producer asked her.

"Oh, wowee!," she beamed.

"That's it," Knubbler snapped his fingers. "It's Toki's guitar work on that song. Makes it sound too much like a Dethklok song. Now you want your own identity, don't ya William?"

"Mm, yeah," he admitted.

"Well she's good, not experienced and not fast like Skwisgaar, but she can make it shine. See? Everybody wins!"

Murderface sighed, stabbing his chair with his dagger. "Movin right in my territory. Women," he huffed.

"I heard that!," she said from the recording booth.

"Can ya hear this?," he flipped her the middle finger.

"Well can YOU hear THIS?," and she turned around and dropped her leather miniskirt and mooned him. When she straightened and pulled her skirt back up both men were speechless. Knubbler's electronic eyes were still processing what he just witnessed.

"That was the mosht shexy, metal thing I've ever seen a chick do," Murderface choked out. "It's like....if Nathan was a chick, that's what he'd be like. Totally BADASSED."

"Ahh," went Knubbler.

"Now everytime I see Nathan I'm gonna see her cute ass. This schucks. Now I'm like, gay or shomething. Well, lay your guitar tracks down, chickie-roo, I'll be in the bathroom schittin. And jackin off." And with that Murderface got up and left the studio.

"Eww," said a disgusted Judy.


"Nathan, since this whole thing is based upon your idea, I thought I'd let you go over the space modules and the moon layout in particular," Ofdensen was telling Nathan, who was starting to get that zoned-out look. "We've got some NASA engineers, astrophysicists, and an art director." Three people entered the conference room, and Nathan could've cared less but after the first two stiffs a tall blue-haired woman followed them. She was tall, long-legged, with deep dark eyes and black lipstick, carrying a clipboard of some of her ideas for the aesthetics of the equipment.

"I'm sorry, what was her name?," cut in Nathan

"This is Miss Katrina Tate," answered an irritable Ofdensen. "She designed Dethklok's last album cover."

"Great, thanks," said Nathan, who dumbly looked over several drawings and schematics that the three had been collaborating on, and approved some particularly brutal choices.

Lucifer's ass, she was...dark, harsh and brutal, like him! Uh oh, down, lil Nathan.

The next day he decided to call the number on her card.

"Hello?," she asked.

"Uh, hi, this is, yeah, Nathan Explosion," he began.

"Oh, hi!," she said brightly. "How can I help you?"

"Well, you see I had some more idea on the rocket ship, and I was wondering...would you like to discuss it...like, over dinner.." he ended lamely.

"Well, let me check my datebook..I dunno, I'm a busy girl...DUH! Sure I will, where do you wanna meet?"

"Really?"

"Yeah! You're Nathan Explosion, man!," she laughed, but it wasn't flirty or slutty like he was used to getting. No, this was more playful and friendly. He liked that. Argh, down, lil Nathan!


Nathan decided to play the gentleman and let Katrina pick where she wanted to eat. Of course it had to be a big expensive fancy foo-foo place, he groaned when the Dethbus pulled up to it. Oh well, that's college-educated know-it-alls for you, he thought wickedly. He brought his own clipboard this time, he thought smugly--he was a billionaire, and he was pretty smart. Ok, sometimes he was. The place had exceedingly good service, the frontman had to admit, and all it took was waving a fistful of cash to get the whole place scurrying.

The totally expected French waiter asked them what they would like to order, and Katrina looked over the menu carefully before ordering the most food he'd ever seen a chick eat in front of a guy. She could probably out-digest Judy, he chuckled to himself. Then it was his turn. He didn't understand most of the dishes described on the menu, oh shit, umm, "I want something that used to be alive, preferably beef. I want lots of it, and don't cook it too long. And bring me some booze." The patient waiter pointed his suggestion out on the menu, and Nathan grunted his affirmation.

"Merci, m'sieur and mademoiselle," he said briskly, taking their order to the chef.

Katrina laughed, and he turned to her, thinking she was making fun of him. "You're not what I expected."

"What's that supposed to mean?," he wondered, thinking expecting somebody smarter?

"To be such a star you haven't really changed that much, have you? I mean, you don't try to be something you're not. You're genuine."

"Oh," he rolled this over his brain. "Thanks."

"Sooo..you had some more things to show me?," she asked, leaning forward expectantly. She was dressed in a nice pinstriped pantsuit, with a tight top under the jacket which exposed a little cleavage. She had a tattoo of a flaming heart on one breast, he couldn't help but notice, and wondered what other tattoos she had, and where.

"Uhm, yeah, this is what I came up with," and he handed her the clipboard.

"Hmm," she went, perusing the different drawings and descriptions. "Huh...this is very good..."

"Really?," he let out a breath.

"I love the sharp angles on the Dethklok rocket, and the logo on it is different too. I like it."

"You do?," he was surprised.

"The rear part may not work, have to ask the engineers about the engines, but this is very metal. It's totally Dethklok!" She handed the clipboard back to him, smiling.

"You're not just saying that? Just because I'm Nathan Explosion?"

"No, that's why you're paying me, remember? To root out bullshit and make everything look good. So did you take drafting in college?"

"No," he looked away. "I never went to college."

"No shit? You should have, those schematics were damn good. Is this a hobby of yours?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Don't tell any of the guys, though--I'd never live it down."

She gave him a puzzled look, then shook her blue-haired head. "You guys are so weird."

"So are you," he quipped back. "Going to a business meeting in blue hair and a nosering."

"All this, AND witty too!," she cackled. "Everyone lock up yer daughters!"

Damn, he could never tell if she was serious or teasing him. She was certainly different; funny, brutally honest, talented, and hotter than seven Hells. Plus she thought he was smart! His ego started to swell.

Oh, I bet you guys think this is the part where they profess their undying lust for each other and go have hot, steamy sex on the Dethbus or the hot tub or both, and she becomes his girlfriend and road wife and and la-dee-freakin-dah, but no you pervs. It ain't that kind of story. Ok, maybe it is a bit, but I'm not gonna play your voyeuristic little games, ha!

No indeed, what they did was eat their expensive lunch, Nathan watching Katrina put away a salad, a dozen rolls, some soup, a whole lobster, several vegetables, and a slice of pie, along with several glasses of the fine wine Nathan (sort of) asked for. Nathan ate his medium-rare dead bovine muscle tissue with a hella lot of A-1 steak sauce since he didn't think to bring his Explosion Sauce. Plus he drank the rest of the bottle and asked for another one and dove into that like there was no tomorrow. He also had his boot flask, pocket flask, and down-in-his-pants super-hidden flask, which he shared with the woman.

"Whew...Nathan, I think I'm a bit tipsy," Katrina giggled. "I think I should call a cab.."

"Naw, don't do that," Nathan said, then burped. "You gotta make copies of my ideas, so come on back to Mordhaus. Hey, we could pal around or somethin, too."

"Ah ah, no fraternizing with your employer," she slurred, wagging her finger at him. "It isn't professsshional."

"It'll be plat--platin--platonic, I promise," Nathan told her. "Completely..uh..hands-off."

"Well," she snorted. "I GUESS I could let you take me there, I mean, how many art directors get invited to Mordhaus? But no funny business!"

"Got it. 'Lots of funny business,'" he says into his voice recorder.

"You are so wrong," she says, getting up to go with him.


The pair were singing Frank Sinatra (don't ask me why) songs and stumbling through the hall, Nathan somehow ending up with a third bottle of the ultra-expensive wine, and Skwisgaar met them on his way to his room. "What are yous doing, Nathans? Ah, times for some s-c-e-x-x as Toki calls it?"

"Shut up, Skwisgaar," Nathan hiccups. "This is Katrina, the art director chick. She's helping to make our badassed rocketship."

"Hies," Skwisgaar says, sizing her up. Nope, too young and too skinny, he thought, and dismissed her from his Fuck List. "Just a bits of warnings," he tells her conspiratorially, "If he wants to fetch his bottle of Explosion Barbecues Sauce and a turkey baster, just tells him no." He winked and continued on his way.

"What was that all about?," questioned Katrina.

"Uhhh, nothin'," Nathan says.