Author's Note: Um, still not sure where I'm going with this, but I guess I'll just continue this stream of consciousness writing and hope I don't bore you all along the way.
Disclaimer (Haiku form): There is no one here / I call my own invention / I'm no Ben Franklin
The day proceeded normally.
Every minute of the fresh hell he had been thrust unceremoniously into played out as if this day was just like any other. Ofdensen checked the clock every five minutes, always expecting to be called down to the warden's office for his interrogation to commence. But there was no PA announcement, no gesture from the guard, no men in suits dragging him to a blank room with a table and a single ceiling lamp and a two way mirror. He got up, he went through shit, he lay back in his bed again. Nursing a bite wound from one of the more mentally unstable inmates, Ofdensen could feel himself losing his cool. He stared up at the ceiling with dead eyes and hours passed. He needed to get out.
Then there was the familiar creak of his heavy iron door being opened. Ofdensen sat up and spun himself so that he was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking to see who the intruder was. Flanked by two huge military stooges, General Crozier ambled in.
"Hello there Charles, you're looking…" Crozier looked at Ofdensen and raised an eyebrow "…well." Ofdensen strangled an instinctual urge to punch the general. That wasn't proper, that wouldn't get him what he needed. It was in situations such as these that Ofdensen excelled. Negotiations.
"I assume you're here to conduct the interrogation." Said Ofdensen matter-of-factly. "I should tell you that any information I disclose come with the cost of my release." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and stood up.
"Well now, I don't think you're in any position to be setting terms here Charles." Said Crozier smugly. "It looks to me like you're up a creek without a paddle. And you sure as hell don't look like you're up for a swim." Ofdensen glared at this remark. He hated looking powerless. Without his suit, in an orange short-sleeve jumpsuit, he felt ridiculous. And the fact that his face and arms were still covered in cuts and bruises did nothing to up his confidence. Crozier, fat and healthy as he was, painted a much more dominant picture.
Crozier and his cronies led Ofdensen out of his cell and through a series of hallways marked with signs that read "OFFICIAL PERSONEL ONLY". Finally the men entered a small room, but not quite the one Ofdensen had imagined it would be. There was no table, there were plenty of florescent lights overhead, and the walls seemed to be all solid stone.
There was a chair.
Crozier gestured for Ofdensen to sit in it, and he complied although it made him uneasy. Crozier stood directly in front of Ofdensen, so that his bulging stomach was eye level with him. The stooges stood on either side of the single door. One of the lights flickered.
"This is where we will be conducting the interrogation?" Asked Ofdensen dubiously. The room seemed hardly catered to that task.
"Did we really use the word interrogation?" Asked Crozier. "I think what we meant was prosecution. Charles Foster Ofdensen, you have been charged and convicted of unlawful negligence of Dethklok and its subsidiaries, and we don't give a rat's ass how you plead."
Ofdensen stared in disbelief. He opened his mouth to protest but Crozier cut him off.
"I don't know if you are aware that, thanks to your lack of foresight, the new Dethklok album has been lost, beyond repair, to that goddamn fire. The United Nations security council has judged you to be entirely responsible for the fiasco that occurred that night, deeming that it was your responsibility to ensure the safe release of the record. The record is gone, the world has erupted in chaos, it's not safe to walk the streets of any metropolitan area anymore. Crime rates have gone up five thousand percent, thanks to you." Crozier stopped at last to take a breath. "The decided sentence is death. Public execution."
There was a silence as Ofdensen absorbed this information. All he could think about was, where were the boys? Were they safe?
"There has to be a scapegoat." Crozier's voice took on a softer tone. "And we've decided it's you. God knows it was as much our fault as it was yours. But it's easier to solve a problem when it's a single guy, as opposed to the entire global governing body."
"And where is Dethklok?" Ofdensen asked, his voice unsettlingly calm.
"They were removed from the scene shortly after your arrest. Taken in the Dethcopter by some klokateers and a few military officials. Don't worry," he said, seeing Ofdensen's expression, "They're plenty safe."
It was then that a deafening sound from above ripped through the air. All four men looked up to see the ceiling being torn from its place by some unknown force, and rain poured down on them from a now uncovered sky. The sound was deafening, and Ofdensen recognized it: copter blades.
A rope ladder was thrown down to the stony floor, and Ofdensen immediately jumped up onto it and climbed furiously. There were shout from below, but his eyes were ever looking up, hoping to glimpse a familiar face he hadn't seen for a week.
There one was. Pickles' long red hair was being blown to ridiculous angles as he leaned out the side of the Dethcopter. "Hurry!" He yelled anxiously, watching Ofdensen scramble up.
But adrenaline alone could not combat the grievous injuries Ofdensen's body had suffered the past week. And Ofdensen had barely eaten anything since he had entered prison. His hands were not able to grip the ladder well, and as the air grew colder as he ascended, the problem worsened. The rain cut into him like ice-cold pin pricks, and bullets flew past him. One nicked him in the shoulder and he almost lost his hold entirely. He stopped climbing and clung to the ladder, trying to regain his breath and strength. Below, Crozier's cronies were climbing the ladder as well, and they were quick. From the opposite end of the ladder, Nathan and Skwisgaar were climbing down to get Ofdensen to safety.
A cronie grabbed his leg. Nathan grabbed his hand. There was a long moment when Ofdensen was being torn apart. Finally Skwisgaar managed to kick the military man in the face, sending him freefalling down and colliding sickeningly with the ground below. Nathan somehow managed to swing Ofdensen around onto his back, and carried the manager up the rest of the way. Skwisgaar followed quickly, and once the three men were safely in the copter, Pickles cut the rope ladder. The second stooge, who had not been far behind, fell to his gory death below.
Ofdensen and Nathan lay on their backs, panting and soaking wet.
"Thank…you…Nathan," said Ofdensen between gasps. "I guess I owe you double now." Nathan Explosion grunted poetically and stood up on unsteady feet.
"So…where to now?" Asked Pickles of Ofdensen, handing him a towel.
"Well, I assume wherever you were before should do fine…" Ofdensen had not been expecting to be put in charge so abruptly, although it was a welcome change of pace, finally feeling in control of things again.
"We can'ts go back theres." Said Skwisgaar solemnly. "We are, de outcasts, de lone wolfs of dis world."
Ofdensen stood uneasily and looked down at the passing landscapes below. He'd almost forgotten how weird this job was.