Out of Darkness - Chapter 3

by DethKlaire

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.

Gratitude: Huge thanks to my excellent Beta Reader, and partner in crime, the lovely YvetteD!

Notes: My first story. Not yet complete, but I consider these first 6 sections to be "Part 1"
I am not a doctor or a scientist, so sorry if some of the medical / technical stuff is off…
I love Charles. Therefore I challenge him.

Warnings: Some strong language… but seriously, it's Metalocalypse, what did you expect? ;)

Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!


Charles didn't know how long he'd been asleep. Was it even morning or still sometime that night? His eyes still felt slightly puffy, but they were dry. His head was pounding- the sinus pressure from last night's emotional release coupled with the dull pain he still sometimes felt as a result of the trauma he endured that had stripped him of his sight. But as he sat up and rubbed his eyes he realized that he felt alright. He felt determined. He had a job to do and he needed to figure out how to keep doing it.

He had so much at his disposal- devoted personnel, advanced technology- surely there would be ways to allow him to do the things he needed to. He thought about what those things were- the basic elements of his job. Reading. Writing. Calculation. Negotiation. It would be hard but he knew the physical challenges associated with all of these could somehow be met. Then there was, of course, Babysitting. Charles rolled his sightless eyes as he thought about what was by far the most difficult part of his job.

Creating and maintaining a multi-billion dollar empire which played a key role in world economics would be relatively easy if it didn't involve the constant financial, emotional and sometimes even physical management of the members of Dethklok themselves. But this was also what made it worthwhile for him.

He pressed a button to activate the communication device in his watch.

"How can we help you, Lord Offdensen?" came the voice of a Gear who was working in dispatch.

"What is the current time?"

If the dispatcher was fazed by this question he didn't show it. "Just passed 0600, Sire."

"Schedule a meeting for me at 1500 with the heads of the Engineering and Medical Departments. And have the Attending Doctor come see me now."

"Yes, Sire, I'll send the Doctor in. Do you desire to hold the meeting in your current suite?"

"No, in my office. Thank you, that's all."

Within minutes Charles heard a rap on the stone door.

"Come in", he called out and stood to greet the Medical Klokateer.

"Sire, how are you feeling?" the male Doctor asked. Charles could tell by the voice that this was the main Doctor who had been overseeing his care. He heard a slight crunch and realized that the Gear had stepped on the remains of his glasses.

"I will have someone come clean this up, Sire"

"The cleanup can wait. I'm feeling like I'm ready to get out of here anyway. And I've got a meeting to attend this afternoon. So between now and then I need to get my affairs in order and check out."

"Shall I have an occupational therapist come see you?"

Charles had only recently realized how much the Gears looked to him for orders, even when to came to his own medical care.

"If that's what you deem appropriate. You're the Doctor. I just want to be able to walk out of here this afternoon and end up in my office, not in one of those obscure wings of Mordhaus where I'm likely to get shot during someone's target practice."

The Gear was utterly humorless. "No one would ever shoot you, Sire."

"Noted and appreciated. I will call for the, ah, occupational therapist shortly then "

"Yes, Sire. Is there anything else?"

"Actually there is one more thing. Get me a new pair of glasses."

"Sire?"

"You heard me. That should be all."

The Doctor was making his way to the door when Charles stopped him.

"Actually… Doctor… I need you to tell me something."

"Anything, my Lord." Charles could hear the man turn and approach him. It was not common for him to get this personal with the Gears, even the "Professionals", but he wasn't sure who else to ask.

"Tell me how my eyes look. Honestly."

There was a pause. Charles couldn't tell if it was from awkwardness or if the man was simply already focusing on the task.

"They are clear. They appear normal, Sire" the Gear replied after a moment. This made sense, as it were his optic nerves that were destroyed- his actual eyes were fine. But that wasn't what Charles was concerned about. He continued,

"When I talk to you, and you're looking at my face... do you find them to be, ah, distracting?"

Another, longer, pause, although Charles guessed that the other man had been observing him the whole time they spoke.

"It is… perhaps a bit distracting, Sire. I am aware that you are not… looking at me."

It was as he suspected, but still, Charles didn't like hearing it. It wasn't just for reasons of vanity, he tried to convince himself, as the Gear was left standing in silence. He could not allow himself to appear disconnected during conversations. Negotiations would be difficult enough without the ability to visually size up his opponent. He had hoped to avoid the stereotypical "badge" of blindness, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like the lesser of two evils.

"Thank you. I appreciated your, ah, honesty. So, as for the glasses, make the lenses dark… very dark. I'd like several pairs, and, ah, get one to me before my meeting this afternoon. That's all."

"Of course, Sire." He turned and Charles let him leave this time.

Charles then cautiously and somewhat awkwardly went about what had become his typical grooming routine during the few days he had been, as the medical personnel said in "recovery". He hated that term, as it only served to remind him that there was no recovery.

The staff here had laid out all his things where they would be easy for him to find. After insisting, on day one, that he was not going to suffer an assistant guiding him through his own morning routine, Charles had been shown where everything was and left to his own devices, the way he wanted. He was of the "sink or swim" mindset when it came to dealing with challenges, and he was either going to swim now or die trying.

Charles wasn't sure how long it took before he was showered, dressed and ready for his visit with the occupational therapist. It felt to him like everything took so much longer now. Maybe it was just because he had to remain so focused on each task, and even then he felt like he was fumbling through it all. He made his way cautiously back and forth from one section of the small suite to another, guided by a hand along the contour of the wall, or furniture. He was glad to know that even when he was back in his own quarters he could request that the housekeeping staff straighten things out in his absence and replace anything he might drop or knock over, so that he would be able to find it again the next time he needed it. There certainly had been a few things here that he had accidentally displaced this morning. He wasn't even sure of what they were.

But it didn't matter now. As always, Charles was moving on to the next task. He activated the com unit on his watch again and indicated that he was ready for his session with the therapist.

...