Author's Note: Ummmmmmmmm it's been a really long time. I kind of gave up on this one for a while because I didn't know where it was going. I still don't. But here is another chapter.....for anyone who still cares at all. Maybe if anyone does care, leave a review (maybe with ideas?) and I'll keep writing. If not, this may be it....
Thanks to everyone for all your kind reviews and support and everything! I can't wait for the next season to come out!
The trip back to Mordhaus was long and confusing, as each band member attempted to explain, in their own unique way, what had happened after Ofdensen had been arrested. Glossing over Toki's continuous high-pitched murmurs and compiling various facts stuck haphazardly between grand hyperboles made by the rest of the band, Ofdensen was able to ascertain a general series of events. As Crozier had said, they were taken by both military forces and Klokateers. At some point Nathan had ordered the Klokateers to kill the troops, mid-air, and the resulting scuffle left only one loyal Dethklok employee alive – the pilot (fortunately). Satisfied by the outcome of the airborne battle, Dethklok had instructed the pilot to fly them to every federal prison in the country in search of Ofdensen.
"And well, luckily you were in like the third one we checked," said Pickles, whose explanations generally made the most sense and therefore merited the majority of Ofdensen's attention. "But that's why it took us like a week to come get you, in case you were wondering."
"I understand entirely," said Ofdensen in an elevated voice, as Toki and Skwisgaar continued ranting in broken English.
The dethkopter, approaching the still smoldering remains of the once great Mordhaus, slowed to a stagnant hover above.
"What are we doing here?" yelled Murderface, whose voice could never sound friendly when directed at Ofdensen. "This isch the SCHENE of the crime! You schtupid dildo!"
Ofdensen had long learned to tune out most of Murderface's insults and therefore answered coolly, "I need to recover some important legal documents before we can continue. They are in a fireproof vault in the lower levels of the building. We won't stay long." He assured the nervous group. "Keep it running," he added to the pilot, and descended down the dangling rope ladder.
The building was completely destroyed. Whole floors had caved in, leaving gaping crevasses and smoldering debris everywhere. The ceiling as it had once been no longer existed. There was nothing but cold night air above them as they six men made their way down precariously damaged staircases and through cluttered hallways. A few dead bodies littered each room. The smell was unbearable.
Finally the group found itself where the small in-house hospital used to be, now a dismantled, open-air room with none of the sterile quality it once had. The check-up table was still there, however. And, sitting nonchalantly upon it, the doctor. It was a creepy scene to behold: the doctor perched on the edge of his examination table, kicking his legs in a child-like manner and sucking on a lollipop. Ofdensen frowned, then cleared his throat.
The doctor whipped around and, seeing the puzzled group before him, let his draw drop and his sucker fall to the ground.
"Charles! What are you doing here?" He asked incredulously.
"I think I will take the liberty of asking you first," said Ofdensen.
"Oh," the Doctor shrugged a little, his slightly nasal voice sounding indifferent, "I was just sitting on the table here," he gestured at his seat, "waiting for that piece of the ceiling to fall down and crush me." The whole room looked upwards where indeed there was a rather hazardous segment of roofing dangling dangerously above them.
"Frankly," said the doctor, still unnervingly calm, "I've been waiting for the roof to fall down on me since I started working here, but the possibility hadn't seemed very real until recently."
Ofdensen didn't really know what to say to that, so he decided to ignore it, a common strategy of his.
"You look pretty awful Charles," the doctor continued, hopping off the table and inspecting one of Charles' exposed arms. Ofdensen needed to get out of the goddamn jumpsuit. Pulling himself away from the concerned physician, Ofdensen made his way to the vault, a small black box hidden in a closet just off the hospital ward. Lifting it with some strain, he shuffled back into the room where Nathan took the box so Ofdensen wouldn't have to carry it.
"Thank you, Nathan," said Ofdensen, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose once more. Nathan was quickly becoming his favorite. "Now, this is everything we'll need for now, it has access codes to offshore Swiss bank accounts not linked to Dethklok or myself, so we should have some money for the time being."
"But where are we gonna go, we can't schtay here!" Murderface yelled. A few ceiling tiles crumbled.
"Well, for now we can go to my house."
Ofdensen's statement was met with a long pause and blank stares.
"You…have a house?" asked Pickles.
"Yes of course I have a house. It's a very good investment." Ofdensen made his way to the door, and the band followed obediently. "And it's very private, so we'll have a chance to regroup there and figure out what our next move is going to be."
He paused at the doorway, looking back.
"Are you coming?" He asked the doctor.
The doctor looked up from the floor, where he was inspecting his dropped lollipop.
"Who, me?" He asked in surprise. "Well, I told you, I was going to just wait here…" he gestured at the ceiling vaguely.
Ofdensen gave a slightly patronizing frown.
"I would much prefer it if you came with us. If you're found here, it could be a great liability for us. And frankly, I have a few medical aggravations that I would rather be seen to by a private physician."
The doctor shrugged, gave on last longing glace at the precarious ceiling, and followed Ofdensen and Dethklok out of the room.
As soon as they left, they heard the indistinguishable sound of a ceiling caving in, undoubtedly crushing everything beneath it in a blow that would sure have killed any human sitting in that room. The doctor swore under his breath.