Nathan Explosion, lead singer and lyricist for mega-band Dethklok, came out of a deep slumber with a drawn-out "Nooooo!" Sweat beaded his forehead as awareness slowly dawned on him. Just a bad dream, he told himself, another bad dream. In his underwer he padded to the sink in his uber-metal bedroom at Mordhaus and splashed water on his weary, craggy face. Man, he was still tired. Maybe all the partying was getting to him.

"Bleah," he said to the image staring at him from the barbed-wire framed mirror.

Then he noticed something about his appearance, and bent for a closer look...

And screamed bloody murder.

The other members of Dethklok were going through their morning routine: Murderface was slurpily eating cereal, Pickles was helping himself to some hair of the dog whilst sprawled on the couch, Toki playing happily with one of his model airplanes and Skwisgaar was idly noodling new riffs on his guitar. The were slowly getting revved up for a new day of brutality when Nathan literally exploded into the room.

"Aaghhh! Guys! I found a grey hair. I'm going grey!," he panted, oblivious to the fact he was still in his tightie whities.

"There's always hair color, my friend," Pickles reassures in his Midwestern twang, then burps.

"Yeah, you can cover up grey hair, but ya can't cover up fat and ugly. I'm the fat one!," Murderface points out, with milk on his mustache.

"But you know what this means?," Nathan demands in his trademark growly voice. All the others' faces were blank. "This means I'm gettin' old! That's not metal!"

"Wowee, that's brutal," concedes Toki as he twirls a propeller on his airplane. "How does it feel being elder?"

"Tired and shitty!," rumbles Nathan, plopping into an empty chair. "Aw, God, where did my youth go?"

At that moment their manager/financial representative walked into the room, immaculate as always, suave and bespectacled. "There you are," Ofdensen speaks, adjusting his tie. "I've been looking for you. I need to have a word with you. In private."

"Leave it to Mr. Moneybags to rains on your black parades," interjects Skwisgaar, wailing away on a solo.

"Jesus can't you see I'm having a mid-life crisis?," Nathan complains.

"This is important, I need you to come with me so I can--"

"Why can't you just tell me here?"

"Well, it's a delicate situation. There's someone here you have to talk to, and--"

"Another lamp meeting?," interrupts the blond guitarist.

Ofdensen sighs. "No, now please Nathan get dressed, and..."

"Just kill whoever it is," Murderface, ever the sadistic bassplayer, offers.

"Jah, feed them to the yard wolves," Skwisgaar suggests.

"It's not that simple. Nathan, something and someone important has been brought to my attention, and it concerns you." The businessman let that sink in a moment.

Raising his raven head (with its one grey hair) Nathan demands, "Who the hell is it? Just say it!"

"Your daughter is here to see you," the slim, clean-shaven man says flatly.

"My WHAT?!"

"This young woman claims she's your daughter and she's here to see you."

"FK!!," he roars.

Making their way to the conference chamber Ofdensen remarks, "Uh, don't you think you should get dressed?"

Nathan looks down at his large barrel-chested, powerful body essentially bare, with its somewhat flabby belly, and shrugs. Who cares at this point? His life was over. "At least some pants?," the CFO goes on.

"Off," Nathan says.

"Yes?"

"Eat my fk."

"Fine."

A Klokateer opens the double doors for them, and between the Klokateer guards and servants, the girl's lawyers, and the huge high-backed chairs sits a 15-year-old girl in plaid skirt and sweater. She glances up at him with green eyes and he sees his own strong jaw and piercing eyes, but she had full, pretty lips and a cutesy feminine nose. And a familiar full head of long, thick black hair.

"Hi, she speaks shyly, standing to an impressive height for someone of her tender years.

"Hi," Nathan stammers.

"Did you forget your pants?," she giggles.

"Yeah, I guess I did."

"So you're my Dad," she muses, looking him over.

"I don't know. Am I?"

"We'll have the DNA tests run to check the girl's claim," Ofdensen puts in.

Footsteps announced the arrival of the rest of Dethklok, their curiosity having got the best of them. "I wanna see!," came Toki's plaintive voice.

"Is she cute?," went Murderface.

All the members fell over each other in the doorway in their haste to get through. "Pfah, it's a little yuppie girl!," scoffs Skwisgaar.

"That ain't metal," sniffs Pickles with a toss of his red dreadlocks.

"She dressed up for a Britney Spears video?," quipped Murderface.

"Metal this," she exclaims, lobbing a stapler at the bassist and bouncing it square off his head with a thok. The next sound was the thud of Murderface's chunky frame hitting the floor.

"My God," breathed Nathan, gazing at the girl with awe. "She IS my daughter."

The Tribunal sat in their accustomed places in the darkened room, awaiting Senator Stampingston's information. "It seems that a new development occured over the weekend--Nathan Explosion has met his illegitimate daughter Judy Evans." The grey-haired politician stood before a huge television screen which flashed appropriate information on the screen.

"That's interesting news indeed," says General Crozier in his surly manner. "It could be used to implode the band from the inside out."

"Here is Dr. Albrecht Schwingenhardbordson, a family dynamics specialist, to explain the situation," the Senator says, stepping aside.

"Gentlemen," the middle-aged, professional-looking man begins, clearing his throat. "The girl in question is daughter of one Betty Evans, a high school cheerleader and onetime sweetheart of Nathan Explosion when he played football. They broke up when he dropped out of high school and began playing in a band. Judy was born seven months later. Betty has since then went on to be a successful nurse at a hospital in Georgia, raising the child on her own. This revelation can do one of two things: having a child may strengthen Nathan, making him feel more whole and complete; or it could possibly tear Dethklok apart."

The white-haired elder sitting on the throne in the middle of the table speaks at last. "Yes...we will observe what happens. Let him get to know his progeny.."

"We have the results from the DNA paternity test," announces Ofdensen.

"Did I fail?," Nathan asks worriedly.

"It's not that kind of test, Nathan," the man replies, mustering his patience. "This will tell us whether or not you are truly this young lady's father." He opens the envelope and his shrewd eyes scan the papers. "Well, it says that you ARE the father with 99.99 certainty."

"Hoo boy," the singer mumbles.

"Dad!," exclaims the girl cheerily, hugging his muscular arm.

"So what am I supposed to do now?"

"I guess you uh...go do father stuff," answers Ofdensen. "Learn about your daughter, take her with you to concerts, help her do homework. You know, parent type things."

"Shit," he hisses.

"I'm glad you fin'ly decided to put some clothes on," Judy burbles.