Chapter 2

Charlie wandered down the sidewalk at a snail's pace, one hand in his pocket, the other languidly holding on to the briefcase he hoped he would never have to use again.

He was being ripped in two from the inside out, it seemed. On the one hand, he was elated over getting fired- something almost everyone he knew would never say. A hair blew in front of his eyes- he brushed it out of the way. Odd. It seemed the wind had suddenly changed directions.

He also knew that getting fired meant he would have a great deal of planning and thinking to do that evening. How would he pay his bills? His rent? He needed food, necessities, gasoline, and guitar strings. His roommates would likely be of little help. Charlie didn't hate the fact that they mooched off of him most of the time, but he couldn't say it thrilled him, either.

That same pesky hair blew in front of his eyes after a particularly strong gust of wind as he came to the end of the block. It wasn't too crowded- after all, this was the corporate district, and it was early morning work hours. Said hair was followed by half his bangs, and he cursed softly as he tried to flip them back to where they belonged.

A sudden hand on his shoulder that gently pulled him backwards made him jump a mile. He nearly shrieked, holding himself back at the last second, so all that came out was a small puff of air. Charlie parted his curtain of hair in the middle and stared out from under it, incredulous.

"You almost fell off the edge of the sidewalk!"

Charlie chanced a glance down, noticing his foot had just been about to slip off the concrete. That would have resulted in hurt pride and a likely sprained ankle. With a small, miffed sound, he straightened up and brushed his hair back with one hand.

"Ah….thank you. I, uh…I guess I should look where I'm going. I'm sorry for the trouble." He murmured. There was something about the man that had saved him from such an embarrassment that made his head ache unpleasantly. Or, perhaps it was just last night's party hangover creeping back up on him. Yes. That had to be it. People didn't give other people headaches simply by looking at them. He was being foolish.

The older man shrugged, removing his hand from the back of Charlie's blue jacket. He looked rather kindly. Charlie took just a brief moment to study him, his mind churning suddenly with the question of why he didn't turn around and immediately beg for his job back.

Tall. Broad shouldered. Strong-featured. He wore what looked to be an extremely expensive Armani suit. Piercing gray eyes. He looked to be highly intelligent, Charlie thought. And suave. He was rather wrinkled in the face, but his hands were strong and muscular. He also sported a neat goatee, and snow-white hair that was pulled back into a tight ponytail.

"'S alright. Would you like a cigarette?" He offered, sliding a pair of dark sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose from his jacket pocket. Charlie immediately went to lift his watch-bearing wrist to his face, but then remembered- he didn't have anywhere special to be. So he nodded, and leaned against the street-light post at the corner, gratefully taking the cigarette and the offered light. The other man lit up, as well.

"Where were you off to in such a hurry?"

Charlie shrugged, gaze following the trickle of passersby and the steady stream of cars.

"Nowhere, really. Home. Maybe to drop in on a friend. I, ah…I just got fired." He couldn't hide his smile, and the older man's head turned to observe him.

"Really? Now there's a sentiment that doesn't usually put a smile on anyone's face." He had a very deep voice, Charlie noticed, though why he took notice, he wasn't sure. He felt like…something was off. He was sure it was just last night getting to him again. Instead of questioning this further, he took a drag off the cigarette and puffed it out with a short chuckle.

"Well, it's better than working as an accountant for the rest of my life." A small, barely visible smirk seemed to cross the older man's lips. The corners twinged- that was about it.

"You seem like a smart young man. What is it that you'd rather do?"

Suddenly, Charlie felt sheepish. He was just complimented so nicely, and was about to throw it away by saying he wanted to be a rock star? The rebellious part of him took over again, then, and answered for him.

"I'd like to become a professional musician." There. That sounded better than rock star, at least. His headache deepened, and he lifted a hand to rub at his temples.

"Ah. Well, that's respectable. Are you alright?" The white-haired businessman queried, staring straight ahead, but having caught the motion out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, I, ah…have a terrible headache, all of a sudden. It's probably just the, ah…celebration from last night catching up to me." He shook his head to try to clear it, trying to center his thoughts on something pleasant. A familiar tune struck up inside his mind, and he relaxed, his headache fading away almost instantly.

Beside him, the older gentleman seemed to start, and his head whipped around. He stared at Charlie over the rims of his sunglasses, usually stony eyes a mixture of surprise, condemnation, and rage. He seemed to smile again, and raised a brow.

"Oh, well that is interesting…" He murmured. Charlie turned slightly to look at him, confused, his cigarette nearly finished.

"What is?"

"Just that you were celebrating last night. It's sort of ironic- there was a terrible fire in Buena Vista then. Killed twelve people." It was smooth, it was classy, and it was classically him. Charlie's face fell. He looked deflated.

"Ah. Well, that's terrible. Did you know any of them?"

"No, not personally. Thank you for asking, though."

Silence. Charlie vaguely realized he was still being sized up behind dark lenses, and began to feel uncomfortable. His cigarette finished, he dropped the butt to the ground and stepped on it.

"Well, thanks for the cigarette, and thank you, again, for saving me. I didn't realize I was so close to the edge. See you around." He said the last bit flatly as he turned and clipped the crosswalk briskly to get to the next block between sets of traffic.

The white-haired man twisted, his own cigarette long since extinguished, but breathed out a puff of smoke nonetheless. He began to walk down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, and seemed to shimmer slightly- as though he wasn't really there at all. Many who saw this and thought it strange would chalk it up to heat distortion. But a few discerning eyes (which would be dealt with over the years accordingly) would just briefly make out the shift in hair styles, in clothing…to a long flowing mane and heavy armor. The air around him seemed electric with an energy that had long sat, stagnant and waiting. The man chuckled, his voice now obviously different. More rasping- like a screaming whisper.

"Oh, little Charles- you have no idea how close you really are."

With that, Mr. Selatcia wove his way in and out of throngs of people, until looking back over his shoulder would have done Charlie Offdensen no good, as the older man would disappear from his immediate sight for many, many years.

Someone fell into step beside him as he passed the food vendor's stand once more, on the way back to his home. He glanced over. He didn't need any more strange people approaching him that morning.

But it was only the food vendor, wiping his hands on his apron and looking at Charlie with concern.

"Hey, bro! Why you here? You look like you've seen a ghost, man! And why you outta work so early?"

Charlie sighed. He was already tired. That headache…it had just sucked the life out of him. He could practically feel the bags forming under his eyes.

"I got fired, Joe."

Joe wasn't Joe's real name. Joe was from Hawaii- but he had found most people had problems taking him seriously in the connected forty-eight with such a flowery Hawaiian name, and had simply defected to Joe.

"Damn, bro! I'm sorry- how bad did the nui-kane rattle your ass?"

Charlie shook his head. His thoughts were clouded- he couldn't seem to get back to that happy place he'd been in prior to nearly tripping off the sidewalk. He felt like there was some sort of pressure in his head that was preventing him from being himself. He needed more sleep. And a few shots of Jack.

A name kept rolling around in his mind, and he wasn't sure why, or even who it belonged to. It had just…popped up. And it didn't even make any sense. It sounded like some sort of horrible Lovecraftian monster or Orwellian machinery. He knew it was a name, knew what it sounded like…but he couldn't quite bring it to the forefront of his thoughts. Like the others, the sudden storm his consciousness was struggling to sail through, it was stuck, awash on the heady current.

"Not too bad…he was pissed that I was late, but I don't think that's, ah, why he fired me."

Joe nodded solemnly. Something else had happened- he just didn't know what. And he wasn't the type to pry. He was, however, the type to guide, so plastering a broad smile to his face, he grabbed Charlie's elbow and made a quick u-turn with him, headed back towards the food cart.

"C'mon, brotha- we'll get you some ono foods, and you can relax." Charlie nodded glumly, his hands in his pockets. He looked depressed. Joe stewed for a moment, trying to think of a better way to help his friend. He could find none, however- Charlie wasn't usually the type to actually require cheering up.

"Hey, Joe?"

"Yeah bro?" This surprised him.

"Have you ever…have you heard of…ah…name of…hm." Charlie blinked, earnestly confused. Joe was shooting him a wary glance.

"Heard what, bro?" Charlie shook his head again.

"Ah…nevermind. I forgot what I was going to say. What's on the menu today?"

Truth be told, he hadn't forgotten. He couldn't make his lips form the word. His mind and mouth didn't seem to be connected, suddenly. It was stuck in his mind. And as soon as he started thinking about it, it vaporized, and he forgot all about it.

Of course, he wouldn't need to know the name "Dethklok" for quite a while.

And, if Mr. Selatcia had been just a second too late, if Charles Foster Offdensen had tripped off that sidewalk and sprained his ankle, the Metalocalypse would never have begun in the first place.

But it happened. And, eventually, Charlie would have to deal with it.