McFist jumped, startled by the sudden voice. He looked around again, quite unsure if what to do. How did one approach a ghost? Fiddling with his facial hair, he thought of something, anything to say.
"Ahem, I am Hannibal McFist. I will be your...boss and director of chaos."
He said, his voice slight with nervousness. He waited a while, giving him some time to show himself. But, Billy never came out. It wasn't until after several moments of silence that he recieved an answer.
"Ha! You think you're my manager? Don't make me laugh!"
"Yes! I am! It was MY machine that made you what you are so-"
"The Cobra doesn't need a manager. I ride solo."
McFist growled and threw his hands in the air.
"I DON'T CARE! I'M YOUR "MANAGER" AND YOU'LL DO WHAT I-"
Suddenly, a violet figure arose from the hard, metal floor. McFist took a quick step back, having not anticipated his being there. It was Billy. But, something was different about him. He wore what appeared to be one of his former concert outfits. A purple jacket, brown boots, it was all very tacky. Also, his formerly happy and ditzy face was now cool, and mellow. Lifting up his sunglasses, Billy sized up McFist, turned around, and sized up Viceroy.
"Please. I wouldn't be caught DEAD taking orders from anyone, let alone you guys."
Billy smirked as he glanced over the various hardware and machines around him. His expression somewhat mischevious.
"Nice pad ya got here. Needs a little of the Cobra's touch, but not bad."
Billy slid the sunglasses back on, and slung his guitar strap around, revealing a shining, red guitar. Calmly, he began to strum a little tune on it, and float around the room. As he did, McFist felt himself grow even more frustrated. Billy was supposed to be taking orders from him! Standing, awaiting his next duty! Not critiquing his building!
"NO! YOU; STOP PLAYING THAT...that...WHATEVER IT IS! YOU LISTEN TO ME, GOT IT?"
Billy stopped playing the guitar and frowned.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Do my rightcious tunes hurt your old, fragile ears? Here, let me try something fresher."
Billy began to strum the guitar even harder. Loud wails came from the guitar at a deafening pitch. Their frequencies so lound, everyone in the room clutched their ears in pain, and fell to the floor. Despite the cries and pleas for him to stop, Billy played on. He seemed to be enjoying this new-found manner of torment. He played louder, and louder, grinning as he did. But, eventually, he did stop. His guitar practically giving off a releiving steam. Billy lowered his glasses, so he could see his victims on the floor. They all twitched in agony, hands clamped tightly over their ears. This gave Billy a slight sense of pleasure.
"Had enough now?"
He asked, cooly to the piles of people, huddled on the floor. Instead of replying, everyone in the room simply stood up. Their eyes had become nothing more than yellowed, glowing pupils, and their skin a pale, greenish color. In unison, they all, groaned and nodded their heads. They all seemed to be in a trance of sorts. Zombie-fied, some may even say. Billy smiled, and slung the guitar back onto his shoulder. Taking a quick moment to straighten his hair, he began to relay some new...rules he had concocted during his little concert.
"Nice. Now, let's clear some stuff up. I'm going to give you, my loyal fans, orders, tell you what to do, and in exchange, I'll let you listen to my totally rad music."
The now zombie-fied McFist, Viceroy, and ugly lackies all nodded in agreement, each seeming content with the deal's reward.
"Then I guess it's set. But, I can't but feel like something's wrong..."
Billy thought for a moment, tapping his chin. This felt very wrong, for some reason. Like it wasn't something that fit his persona. Nothing came to mind on the matter, it just felt wrong. Maybe, it wasn't something wrong with him. Maybe, it was something wrong with everybody else. Billy's eyes flashed with a new sense of evil and mischeif. The whole world needed to hear his amazing music. Every last human, every last animal, everyone. He had seen what his music could do, now, he was going to use that to his advantage. Soon enough, the Cobra Army would populate the entire planet, and with him being eternal and all, he would be just the rock star to rule it. Billy slowly drifted to the ground, and walked over to a large window with a view of Norrisville. Today, this city. A few hours after, the world...
"Hey! Which one of you bros is good with machiney-type things?"
Billy asked, turning around. Zombie Viceroy raised his hand and grunted. Billy nodded and turned back to the window.
"Awesome. Now, I need you, specifically y-o-u, to build me some mando big stereos and amps. Get'm around town, and make sure they're everywhere."
Zombie Viceroy lowered his hand, and stumbled off. Then, Billy turned to the lackies and zombie McFist.
"You guys? I want this place looking amazing. Werewolf fur-skin rugs, purple leopard, velvet, the whole deal. Can't very well take over the world in a dump like this. And get me a tailor. I want to look my best for tomorrow night's concert."
Zombie McFist nodded, and stuttered away, followed by a hoard of groaning lackies. Billy sat himself down, pleased with himself, and began to play his quitar quietly. Then, he remembered something.
"OH YEAH!"
Zombie McFist and the lackis stopped, heading the call of billy.
"Find me a film-ographer. I wanna get tomorrow on tape. You know, for keep-sies."
The zombies nodde their heads, and continued. Billy remained on the couch, playing the guitar. As he played, the golden buttons on his jacket cilinked against the metal body of the instrument. Billy looked calmly to the window again, nodding his head with the rythem of the guitar's music, and the clicking of the buttons. It was such an intracing tune. Hypnotic, even. That of course, was what he was aiming for. Soon, everyone, the haters, the fans, the doubter, and the believers, would all have one thing in common. They would all love his music. They would love it, even to death. And that was something they could count on.