Prologue:

Charles Ofdensen was not a sentimental man, by nature, but when a particular green eyed phantom, dressed to the nines in a sleek Armani suit, caught his eye from across the crowded ballroom and smiled a tiger smile, the small businessman found his lips pull back from his teeth in a similar manner; with a healthy dose of pure, unaltered joy mixed in. John was here, and the world was going to burn.

Several Days Previous…

Dethklok had gathered in the large conference room for their weekly band meeting with their OFC, Charles Ofdensen. Currently the room was in a state of controlled chaos. Toki had eaten too much sugar and Nathan had gotten hold of yet another penlight. Skwisgar and Murderface were arguing over the importance of a bass guitar in the band while Pickles lay, drooling, on the floor.

"Guys, please, listen for a minute. This is important." Aggravation tinting his words slightly sharper than normal, not that any of them noticed, no one bothered to learn the robot's different tones. No one since… Don't! Charles ordered himself sharply, Don't go there. Don't remember him. You'll just start getting restless if you do.

"Hey's managers, whys yous looks so sad?" Trust Toki to be the most observant of the band.

"Nothing Toki," he glanced up to see Toki staring at him, unnaturally still, "just remembering someone." This seemed to satisfy the Norwegian's momentary curiosity as he turned back to pestering Nathan for the penlight. Seeing that the chances of him regaining the boys interest was an impossibility the brown haired man stood slowly and left the room, intent on returning to his office and getting some work done. Before he could arrive however his cell phone (the Dethphones were too dangerous for him to use) beeped. "Ofdensen."

"Sir, there is a messenger at the front door who wishes to speak with you." The front door? How had this person gotten past security?

"I'll be right there." With that he hung up and took the next right which would bring him to the foyer as quickly as possible. When the suited man stepped into the surprisingly small front hall he took note that the guest was not only inside but was currently flirting shamelessly with a small flock of female Klokateers. It was a young man, perhaps mid twenties, taller than average by a few inches with a supermodels body and dark hair, clothe entirely in white. He made an interesting contrast to the black, blood red, and heavily spiked decor. "Ahem." Charles coughed politely to announce his presence causing whatever spell this stranger had created over the women to break as they scuttled away to parts unknown. The OFC made a mental note to have them punished later before turning is attention back to the pleasantly grinning man. "I was told you wished to speak to me?"

"Actually, I had requested a meeting with the band, but was informed that you were the only one I would be able to speak to. Despite the generous donation I made. " Charles hated him immediately. He was the sort of pompous ass that ignored those who truly needed help, Enough! Focus on the here and now, not the past. Ofdensen grit his teeth and forced the contempt from his words.

"Yes, those are our policies," the manager adjusted his glasses slightly, "the band does not wish to become involved with the business part of things that it was decided early on that I would handle it all. Now I don't believe I caught your name Mr. …?"

"Raith, Thomas Raith."

"Well, Mr. Raith –"

"Just Thomas, Mr. Ofdensen," the man interrupted smoothly, "we'll probably cross paths quite often." A feral grin twisted Thomas' handsome features as a mocking glimmer sparked within his eyes.

"Fine, Thomas. What is it that you want to discuss with the band?" the bespectacled man grit out; polite façade still firmly in place.

Another smile, "There is a charity event being hosted by the Raith family that would provide a wonderful tax write-off for Dethklok…"

"And great publicity for your family." It wasn't a question.

"Of course, of course," the taller male replied flippantly before continuing, "but it's a win-win situation; the band needs the tax break and the ball needs the attention. What could possibly be the downside for you?"

The dark haired man smiled charmingly though the CFO knew it was false; a mask worn by a predator used to getting what it wanted. Charles needed time to think it over; to see all the possible angles and intricacies – he'd definitely need to see the contract before he signed anything. If – and it was still a very large if – he thought it might be a worthwhile venture he'd need something to get the boys to agree; a charity event wasn't going to even register on the "brutal scale."

"Send me a copy of the itinerary, venue, and contract and we'll see," Ofdensen instructed preparing to show the wolf in sheep's clothing out the door.

"Thank you for the consideration, Mr. Ofdensen. I am well aware that if you decide to put this offer before Dethklok that it is possible they may refuse, but, with the location of the event, they may just agree." His grin turned sly, "It's in Chicago at the Congress Plaza Hotel; supposedly haunted by Al Capone himself." Thomas Raith smirked once more before leaving with a final, flippant, comment, "Perhaps the ghost will come out just for Dethklok – that troll certainly did."

Charles' head snapped to the exiting man in alarm, How could he know about the troll; that was covered up as a mass hallucination…

Authors notes:

This is an idea that popped into my head one day and refused to leave. If you don't like it then don't come bitching to me. Updates will be sporadic at best. CONSTRUCTIVE Criticism highly appreciated.