Disclaimer: I own nothing. Brendon Small is a god. 'Nuff said.
For the rest of the pre-chapter comments please see Chapter 7….
Thanks to my beta, YvetteDel, for all your thoughts and support! And thank you so much to those who have commented so far, I REALLY appreciate it! (And then I know that it's actually getting read, and I start to feel guilty if I leave it for too long... )

On that note, sorry it's been a while! Hope this makes up for it, a bit!

The next day Charles arrived to the band meeting ahead of schedule and got settled before anyone else showed up. The earliness was becoming a habit. He'd rather wait alone at his destination than walk in on others who would likely stare as he made his way to his place at the table, still somewhat awkwardly. Soon after he was seated the door opened and someone walked in and took a seat.

"Nathan, you're here early." Charles observed.

"How did you know it was me?"

"Well, I can recognize you by your footsteps, and, as you got closer, your scent. We did share a bed after all. Were you trying to slip past me?"

Nathan didn't reply.

"Look, Nathan, I, ah…"

He was interrupted by Nathan loudly bolting up from his chair.

"Abigail!?"

"Hello Nathan…" was her tentative reply. Charles decided to intervene.

"Nathan, Abigail is going to be with Dethklok again for a while helping out while I, ah, get back in the game."

"Ohhh, so her help is okay. I see how it is." The implication of his tone was clear.

"If you are suggesting that I seek anything other than a professional relationship with Miss Remeltintdrinc you are simply wrong." Charles could now hear the other band members start trickling in.

"Hey, it's Abigails! How ams you doings?"

"What ams you doings? I thoughts you was dones with Dethklok."

"Well, Toki, Skwisgaar, I'm back to assist with the business side of things for a while."

"Dood, that's awesome!" Charles heard Pickles exclaim as he entered, having just caught the tail-end of the conversation.

"Is it?" Charles asked, turning towards Pickles. "I mean, is this going to be a problem between, ah, band members?" He turned back to Nathan, who seemed to have sat back down.

"No," Nathan replied immediately. He took an over-dramatic breath and then continued. "Abigail, as hard as it is for me to say, Pickles and I have decided together that it's best for the band if neither one of us is in a relationship with you. Because if the band falls apart, we're not in a metal band anymore and that's just totally not Metal. So, Abigail, I'm sorry… but it's over."

"Oh! Uh, great! I mean, well, if it has to be that way, for the best interest of the band. Bros before hoes, right? I totally respect your decision." She sounded to Charles as if a huge weight had been listed off her shoulders, and he wondered if she was trying not to smile.

"Did I juscht hear that Abigail isch back and isch available?" Muderface had entered mid-conversation.

"No! I mean, yes, she's back, but she is not available! To any of us. Those are the rules." Nathan bellowed. "Right Charles?" he added accusingly.

"Nathan, I can assure you, that is not going to be a problem. Moving on…"

"How'sch your lazher schtuff going?" Murderface interrupted.

"What? Oh, no, Murderface, it's sonar, not laser, and, it's ah, it's going to take some getting used to."

This was an understatement.

He recalled his first session using the devices. It had been yesterday, after his meeting with Abigail. At his request, his therapist met him at his private gym. It was connected to his apartment, but also reachable from the halls of Mordhaus, if you were given access. He was much more comfortable in this location, where he used to unwind from frustrating days in the office with strenuous physical training. He had done very little in this room since his injury, but it gave him a little confidence just to be back in the space. That confidence was dashed, however, as he was instructed, for the first time, to activate the devices.

The therapist had guided him into the center of the room and turned him to face where he knew a punching-bag hung. He could have located it alone, he had assured himself, but that wasn't what the lesson was about so he let it go. "Now visualize a calming scene- maybe something from nature. This is so the new feedback won't be as shocking to your mind." Miriam's voice was kind and confident. He had started address her by her name, as it just felt wrong to keep referring to her by her Gear Number when she was playing such an intimate role in his life. He imagined the view from his office window.

"Ready?" she asked. He nodded. She verbally guided him to turn a tiny dial on the device attached to his right temple until it locked into place. "There," she said, as he felt it lock. "That was the safety. You can turn them on now. Slowly." He reached up and slowly turned the dial, keeping the forest scene in his mind. Immediately the image in his mind's eye altered, as if a new image was appearing over his mental picture.

Miriam must have seen his face react to the change. "Keep your initial image in your mind, and gradually switch your focus to the new image. There's no need to rush. When you feel ready, abandon the original image and tell me about this new image that you perceive."

He tried but found he couldn't make out any details- it seemed impossible to describe. "It's…. it's space, and shades, and… how is this supposed to mean anything?" Frustration and disappointment filled him. He instantly preferred the nothingness he normally "saw" – it was simple, cleaner and made more sense to him than this.

Charles thought he heard Miriam sigh quietly, and the usual cheerfulness in her voice seemed slightly forced as she explained, "There's no easy way to interpret the sonar images. It's going to take a lot of time and a lot of practice. Right now we just have to set up scenarios where you know what is there, and allow you to learn how to interpret the corresponding image. You're facing two walls that form a corner with an object suspended in front of it. So for now, try focusing on seeing if you can distinguish the object from the walls, based on the sonar feedback."

Charles tried hard to make sense of the image for what felt like forever. Eventually, in frustration, he abruptly reached up switched the devices off. The sudden absence of the feedback made him wince.

"Easy," she cautioned, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Next time, dial it down slowly. Why did you turn it off?"

Charles swallowed hard, feeling completely defeated. He didn't answer.

"This was just the first time. It will get easier," the therapist said comfortingly.

"Is that a fact?"

Miriam hesitated. "This particular technology is very new, but the concept that it's based on is not. Some people who have been blind from a young age have learned to use sound-based eco-location to judge the proximity of objects. We're just takes that one step further by transmitting the information to your brain in a way you can interpret visually because that is what would come most naturally to you, at this point in your life. We have a solid and reliable team working on this, researching the use of sonar in all its natural forms. I am anticipating that, with frequent practice, you will be able learn to interpret the sonar images in a way that you can make sense of, because, believe it or not, your mind already knows how to do this. It's like learning a foreign alphabet. The symbols mean nothing at first, but once you learn them they can be used to form countless different meanings."

"Does this kind of perception occur frequently in nature?" Biology and Ecology weren't the CFO's strong suites.

"Somewhat. In developing this program for you, we're trying to glean what we can from studies of several species of eco-locating mammals including dolphin and whales, but it's all interpretable, as no one can actually talk to the animals themselves…."

"Charles?"

Hearing his name snapped him out of his recollection. He turned towards Abigail's voice.

"Yes, I'm sorry… Just lost in thought for a moment." He turned back and tried to gage the mood of the table by listening.

There seemed to be an unusual amount of focus in the room. He wondered if that was because the band was giving him a break as they knew he was still adjusting, or if it was Abigail's presence that quieted them. Either way, it was appreciated.

"Dick Knubbler is coming back today, and it's time to start thinking about the next album." He stated to get things rolling.

This was met with a series of groans.

"Hey, you and Knubbler can talk about robot thingsch now!" Murdeface exclaimed, somewhat in awe.

"Yes, I'm sure we'll do that." Charles replied patiently. He knew he actually should have a personal talk with Knubbler, who, despite his robotic eyes, had still experienced blindness. He hoped the Producer was going to be semi-sober upon his return to work.

The meeting proceeded as normal, peppered with random thoughts about a topic Murderface brought up out of the blue- the best way to tenderize meat: machine-gun or hand-grenade.

Just as it was winding to a close (and machine-gun was declared the winner, by everyone except an annoyed Toki), Nathan cleared his throat and announced, "We have something for you, Charles."

"Oh?" This was a surprise.

"Pickles, give it to him!"

"Murderface has it, dood!"

"Murderface, give it to him!"

"Here Charlesch, from all of usch." Charles heard something slide down the table towards him. He stood up, reactively, and reached out towards the sound, grabbing the object as it came close.

"Muderface, what the fuck? He can't see it coming!" Nathan yelled.

"Well he caught it, so what'sch the big deal?"

Charles cleared his throat, and the bickering died down to a grumble. He felt what was in his hands. It seemed to be another cane, neatly folded.

"It's black!" Nathan exclaimed excitedly as Charles examined it. "It is the most Metal cane-thing ever!"

"And it's ams undestructables!" Skwisgaar added proudly. "That ams what the Science guys tells us."

"Well, maybe if you melted it in a volcano or schomething, and then blew it up…"

"Withs agrenade!" Toki insisted.

As Muderface and Toki bantered back and forth about the cane's destruction, Charles unfolded it and felt along its length. It was very light but felt sturdy. He stood up and held it in position. It was the same size as his old one, but somehow felt more modern.

"And it's, ah, black, you say?"

"Blacker than the blackest night times infinity."

Charles looked up towards Nathan and grinned. He turned back to the group, still smiling.

"Guys, ah, thank you very much. This means a lot to me." Charles said, and he meant it.

"What a nice gift," Abigail observed. "It looks quite distinguished."

Charles imagined that it would, at least for a blind-cane.

The band started to file out, as Charles collected his old cane, which lay folded on the table, and slid it into a special deep breast-pocket on the inside of his tailored suit-jacket.

As he heard Nathan approach he stopped the larger man.

"Nathan. There's something I need to talk to you about. Something that only you can assist me with."

"Are you asking for my help?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. And actually, if you're offering, why don't you join Abigail and I in my office- I'd like a second set of eyes to read over these forms I have to sign. No offense, Abigail, I just can't be too careful."

"None taken," she replied lightly.

"Okay, I'll come." Nathan agreed.

And the three of them silently headed towards the conference room door, lead by the man with the black cane.