(no subject)
Title: Cloneklok Part 2
Author(s): Lemone
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Nathan/Charles, in various actual/clone combos, Klokateers, Dethklok
Summary: Sex clones. And violence! =D
Rating: Only a PG -13 this time, sadly.
Warning(s): crack, sex, violence, and Cannibal Corpse references
Word Count: 1,800
Disclaimer: I do not own Nathan, Charles, Metalocalypse, etc, so forth.
Author Notes: This was so fun to write. So fun that I know to feel bad. The final chapter of Stirb Nicht Vor Mir is mere paragraphs from being complete. So close I can taste it.
The phone rang. Charles recognized the voice of Number 1132, a scientific genius that had proven indispensable in several of Dethklok Incorporated’s genetic experiments, but occasionally allowed the finer points of Klokateer deference to elude him.
“Commander Zero?”
“Speaking.”
“Yeah, hi. Number 1132 here. Quick question. Umm. Remember when you, you know, went away for a while there and then came back? Was that like, a thing you do or was that a one-time deal?”
“…”
Sensing that he had overstepped his boundaries, 1132 struggled to save face and not be executed. “I, uh, I mean no disrespect sir, it’s just that we need to know what to do down here.”
Charles couldn’t help but think that he had missed something somewhere. “What to do?”
“Yeah! I mean, are we gonna have to be careful when we make more so that we don’t end up with like, ninety extra, or are we gonna maybe have to go out and find them when they come back to life, or…”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Because, the sehh hehh. Heh. Er. Um. You-know-whats of you that the Master ordered all slaughtered each other.”
”What?”
“Yeah, apparently you’re like, oh, what do you call ‘em? Those swishy-finned fish that they keep in little separate jars in pet stores so they don’t kill each other? Yeah, those. ‘Cause yeah. We thought we had it all under control, but then one of them got a hold of one of the guards’ weapons and it turned into a real bloodbath. Four of them are still alive, but one of them is hurt pretty bad and we figure he’ll die soon, so. It was… pretty hot, actually.”
“…”
“P… probably should have kept that last bit to myself, shouldn’t I?”
~~~****~~~
Number 1132 hung up the phone and turned to his colleagues. “He says it was a one-time deal.”
Number 1147 looked up from the screen of his computer. “I think it’s because he’s a witch.”
1132 rolled his eyes. 1147 attributed everything to Ofdensen being a witch. To be fair, he might in fact be a witch, and it really would explain a lot. But 1147 thought that him being a witch explained everything, everywhere, and wouldn’t shut up about it.
1201 called out to the others from somewhere in the back, “Sex clone number 13 just flat-lined back here.”
“Death curse,” said 1147 with annoying certainty.
1132 sighed. Yeah, a death curse that caused him to miraculously die after having his guts shot out with a high-powered automatic rifle. “We might as well go ahead and make our hourly check on the other three.”
Sex clones numbers 17, 6, and 12 had been put in adjacent cells usually reserved for observing Mordhaus’s chimerical experiments. Number 17 had been the one to grab the machine gun, while his two twins had survived their brothers’ mass slaughter by hiding underneath their shredded bodies and behind a nearby wall respectively. The fronts of their cells were made of a foot-thick clear material that was similar to glass but created with the purpose of keeping genetically engineered beasts in check. However, they worked quite well for impromptu clone storage. The Klokateer scientists who worked in the facility would never admit it to each other, but each suspected that the three clones were much more dangerous than the fifteen foot long crocodile-centipede crossbreeds that had been held there the week before.
They opened the door to find that cells 1 and 3 were empty, save for copious amounts of blood and the decapitated bodies of Numbers 6 and 12. In the middle, Number 17 held their heads up triumphantly, his arms gloved in gore up to the elbows. His expression seemed to say ‘look what I did! Aren’t you proud of me?’. The covering for the air vent in each cell lay discarded on the floor, a testament to how Number 17 had managed to get from his cell to his brothers.
1147 gasped, “oh my God, this one’s a witch too.”
~~~****~~~
“So, they all killed each other?”
“All save for the one, my Lord.”
Nathan raised his eyebrows appreciatively. “Brutal.”
“It very much was, my Lord.”
“Wish I could have seen that.”
“Oh, you could still do so if you wanted. Number 1201 uploaded the security feed of the incident to Kloknet.”
“Uploaded to what now?”
Number 1407, who had been bullied by his fellow Klokateers into breaking the bad news to the Master, blinked. He... hadn’t heard of Kloknet? Maybe the Master was one of those guys who just didn’t do computers?
“K-kloknet, sir. One of the tech guys fixed it so that the site can only be accessed from Mordhaus. There’s, um, the forums and social networking section, but most people go for the videos. Lotta stuff with Commander Ofdensen. There’s the one of him smashin’ a guy’s face in with a hammer, one of him takin’ a hatchet to the face of a protester at a concert, the blunt force castration one’s real popular, one of him force-feeding a guy broken glass at the Christmas party for high-ranking Klokateers back in ‘01. That one’s popular too. There’s a tasteful compellation of different times he had hot dogs for lunch. What else…? Oh yeah, Number 1132 really likes the one of him sandin’ a guy faceless. Says it feels real intimate-like. The ladies tend to like the one where he splits a guy’s spine in two. So, yeah. Lotta stuff.”
“Soooo... is that Kloknet.com, or…?”
“Kloknet.com, Sire.
“OkayIogottagoyoukeepworkingonthoseclonesorwhateverbyebyenow.”
Click.
~~~Three Days Later~~~
“Right this way, Master.” One of the science-Klokateers wearing a lab coat over his hood and uniform led Nathan into the cloning facility. He hadn’t been listening when he told him his number designation.
“Uhh, thanks.”
“We, uh, would have thought you’d have come sooner. We tried to reach you, but…”
“I was, uh. Busy. Doin’ stuff.” There was a pause. “Not weird stuff, though.”
Number 1132 chose not to reply. Nathan continued, “You. Uh. Didn’t make any more?”
“We did, but Number 17 killed those too. Now, if you’ll just step this way…”
Number 17’s cell was empty.
“That’s odd,” frowned the Klokateer, “He’s only ever tried to make a run for it when he’s going for one of the other clones, but there aren’t… any…”
There was a stunned silence in the moment of realization.
Nathan let out a whispered curse between his teeth and took off in the direction of his manager’s office. Behind him he could hear the Klokateer calling out something about a 887-0, code red. On the way several heavily armed Klokateers fell in behind him.
Nathan kicked the door down, terrified that he was too late.
Charles Ofdensen was sitting placidly at his desk, typing away at this computer.
“Don’t be alarmed sir,” one of the Klokateers spoke up, “but Number 17 has escaped. We fear that he is making his way…” She saw movement in the corner of her eye and drew her weapon.
Huddled in the far corner of Charles’s office was Number 17. Cringing in a protective, frightened ball he stared in wide-eyed terror at Charles. Sensing his chance, 17 made a dash for the tall, dark man amidst the all-too-familiar hoods and tried to hide behind him. Instinctively, Nathan turned and curled a protective arm around him and realized with a start that he was trembling.
“Shit man, what did you do to him?”
Charles looked up from his work. “Nothing.”
At the sound of his voice, Number 17 gave a tiny squeak and cuddled closer into Nathan.
“No, seriously. Like, what did you do to him?”
Charles frowned, offended. “I didn’t do anything to him.”
“No, seriously.”
Charles regarded his man-made twin evenly. “Number 17,” he said, voice low and dangerous, ”did I do anything to you?”
Number 17 froze, like a rabbit that has realized that the shadow descending upon him is a striking hawk. Slowly, he shook his head left, right, and then dead center.
“Well, there you go,” said Charles, satisfied.
Nathan ran his fingers through Number 17’s hair, a stroking, calming gesture. Number 17 whimpered in relief and squirmed closer into Nathan’s chest. Charles felt a burning, vicious feeling that he couldn’t place rise in his own.
“So. Um. We’ll just go. Now.” Nathan led Number 17 out of the office. The Klokateers fell in step behind them.
Charles gamely tried to continue working, but the burning, vicious feeling wouldn’t let him be. After twenty minutes he shut his computer down, removed his tie in a fit, and leapt up to the elevator that lead to the Numbers’ rooms. He just… he just needed to blow off some steam, was all.
~~~****~~~
The Klokateers that had accompanied Master Explosion to Commander Ofdensen’s office respectfully waited until he had carried his prize out of earshot.
“I have fuckin’ got to know what went down in there,” said one.
“Who wants to go hit up the security department and see if the camera in his office caught some hot Commander-on-sex clone action?” said another.
They all raised their hands. A few high-fived one another and then together they happily ambled towards the security department. Once there, they gathered together in an atmosphere of friendly camaraderie. Number 674 opened a small fridge underneath his desk and passed around some longnecks. Number 44 came from… nowhere, apparently, since she worked in basement 27, sector G, which was miles away and settled on Number 253’s lap comfortably. Gallantly, he offered her his beer. Number 758 joked about making popcorn and then rushed off to microwave it when he found a stash of it on someone’s desk.
There was a smattering of cheers and catcalls when someone queued up the video on the big screen in the center of the room. For a moment it showed Charles sitting at his desk, serenely making his way through some paperwork. Number 17 slid onscreen, a switchblade of indeterminable origin in his hand. His face was awash in ecstatic, sadistic glee. It was a look that screamed ‘oh boy, I’m gonna get to stab this guy!’. Charles’s expression didn’t change as his hazel eyes slid towards the clone.
The screen went to static for precisely 2.07 seconds. One of them would time it later.
When the picture became viable again, Charles was back at his paperwork, still perfectly calm, as though he never had been disturbed. Number 17 was making little weepy noises, curled in the spot he would be found in hours later.
The assembled Klokateers sat in stunned silence.
“Shit man, maybe 1147’s right about this guy.”
Author(s): Lemone
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Nathan/Charles, in various actual/clone combos, Klokateers, Dethklok
Summary: Sex clones. And violence! =D
Rating: Only a PG -13 this time, sadly.
Warning(s): crack, sex, violence, and Cannibal Corpse references
Word Count: 1,800
Disclaimer: I do not own Nathan, Charles, Metalocalypse, etc, so forth.
Author Notes: This was so fun to write. So fun that I know to feel bad. The final chapter of Stirb Nicht Vor Mir is mere paragraphs from being complete. So close I can taste it.
The phone rang. Charles recognized the voice of Number 1132, a scientific genius that had proven indispensable in several of Dethklok Incorporated’s genetic experiments, but occasionally allowed the finer points of Klokateer deference to elude him.
“Commander Zero?”
“Speaking.”
“Yeah, hi. Number 1132 here. Quick question. Umm. Remember when you, you know, went away for a while there and then came back? Was that like, a thing you do or was that a one-time deal?”
“…”
Sensing that he had overstepped his boundaries, 1132 struggled to save face and not be executed. “I, uh, I mean no disrespect sir, it’s just that we need to know what to do down here.”
Charles couldn’t help but think that he had missed something somewhere. “What to do?”
“Yeah! I mean, are we gonna have to be careful when we make more so that we don’t end up with like, ninety extra, or are we gonna maybe have to go out and find them when they come back to life, or…”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Because, the sehh hehh. Heh. Er. Um. You-know-whats of you that the Master ordered all slaughtered each other.”
”What?”
“Yeah, apparently you’re like, oh, what do you call ‘em? Those swishy-finned fish that they keep in little separate jars in pet stores so they don’t kill each other? Yeah, those. ‘Cause yeah. We thought we had it all under control, but then one of them got a hold of one of the guards’ weapons and it turned into a real bloodbath. Four of them are still alive, but one of them is hurt pretty bad and we figure he’ll die soon, so. It was… pretty hot, actually.”
“…”
“P… probably should have kept that last bit to myself, shouldn’t I?”
~~~****~~~
Number 1132 hung up the phone and turned to his colleagues. “He says it was a one-time deal.”
Number 1147 looked up from the screen of his computer. “I think it’s because he’s a witch.”
1132 rolled his eyes. 1147 attributed everything to Ofdensen being a witch. To be fair, he might in fact be a witch, and it really would explain a lot. But 1147 thought that him being a witch explained everything, everywhere, and wouldn’t shut up about it.
1201 called out to the others from somewhere in the back, “Sex clone number 13 just flat-lined back here.”
“Death curse,” said 1147 with annoying certainty.
1132 sighed. Yeah, a death curse that caused him to miraculously die after having his guts shot out with a high-powered automatic rifle. “We might as well go ahead and make our hourly check on the other three.”
Sex clones numbers 17, 6, and 12 had been put in adjacent cells usually reserved for observing Mordhaus’s chimerical experiments. Number 17 had been the one to grab the machine gun, while his two twins had survived their brothers’ mass slaughter by hiding underneath their shredded bodies and behind a nearby wall respectively. The fronts of their cells were made of a foot-thick clear material that was similar to glass but created with the purpose of keeping genetically engineered beasts in check. However, they worked quite well for impromptu clone storage. The Klokateer scientists who worked in the facility would never admit it to each other, but each suspected that the three clones were much more dangerous than the fifteen foot long crocodile-centipede crossbreeds that had been held there the week before.
They opened the door to find that cells 1 and 3 were empty, save for copious amounts of blood and the decapitated bodies of Numbers 6 and 12. In the middle, Number 17 held their heads up triumphantly, his arms gloved in gore up to the elbows. His expression seemed to say ‘look what I did! Aren’t you proud of me?’. The covering for the air vent in each cell lay discarded on the floor, a testament to how Number 17 had managed to get from his cell to his brothers.
1147 gasped, “oh my God, this one’s a witch too.”
~~~****~~~
“So, they all killed each other?”
“All save for the one, my Lord.”
Nathan raised his eyebrows appreciatively. “Brutal.”
“It very much was, my Lord.”
“Wish I could have seen that.”
“Oh, you could still do so if you wanted. Number 1201 uploaded the security feed of the incident to Kloknet.”
“Uploaded to what now?”
Number 1407, who had been bullied by his fellow Klokateers into breaking the bad news to the Master, blinked. He... hadn’t heard of Kloknet? Maybe the Master was one of those guys who just didn’t do computers?
“K-kloknet, sir. One of the tech guys fixed it so that the site can only be accessed from Mordhaus. There’s, um, the forums and social networking section, but most people go for the videos. Lotta stuff with Commander Ofdensen. There’s the one of him smashin’ a guy’s face in with a hammer, one of him takin’ a hatchet to the face of a protester at a concert, the blunt force castration one’s real popular, one of him force-feeding a guy broken glass at the Christmas party for high-ranking Klokateers back in ‘01. That one’s popular too. There’s a tasteful compellation of different times he had hot dogs for lunch. What else…? Oh yeah, Number 1132 really likes the one of him sandin’ a guy faceless. Says it feels real intimate-like. The ladies tend to like the one where he splits a guy’s spine in two. So, yeah. Lotta stuff.”
“Soooo... is that Kloknet.com, or…?”
“Kloknet.com, Sire.
“OkayIogottagoyoukeepworkingonthoseclonesorwhateverbyebyenow.”
Click.
~~~Three Days Later~~~
“Right this way, Master.” One of the science-Klokateers wearing a lab coat over his hood and uniform led Nathan into the cloning facility. He hadn’t been listening when he told him his number designation.
“Uhh, thanks.”
“We, uh, would have thought you’d have come sooner. We tried to reach you, but…”
“I was, uh. Busy. Doin’ stuff.” There was a pause. “Not weird stuff, though.”
Number 1132 chose not to reply. Nathan continued, “You. Uh. Didn’t make any more?”
“We did, but Number 17 killed those too. Now, if you’ll just step this way…”
Number 17’s cell was empty.
“That’s odd,” frowned the Klokateer, “He’s only ever tried to make a run for it when he’s going for one of the other clones, but there aren’t… any…”
There was a stunned silence in the moment of realization.
Nathan let out a whispered curse between his teeth and took off in the direction of his manager’s office. Behind him he could hear the Klokateer calling out something about a 887-0, code red. On the way several heavily armed Klokateers fell in behind him.
Nathan kicked the door down, terrified that he was too late.
Charles Ofdensen was sitting placidly at his desk, typing away at this computer.
“Don’t be alarmed sir,” one of the Klokateers spoke up, “but Number 17 has escaped. We fear that he is making his way…” She saw movement in the corner of her eye and drew her weapon.
Huddled in the far corner of Charles’s office was Number 17. Cringing in a protective, frightened ball he stared in wide-eyed terror at Charles. Sensing his chance, 17 made a dash for the tall, dark man amidst the all-too-familiar hoods and tried to hide behind him. Instinctively, Nathan turned and curled a protective arm around him and realized with a start that he was trembling.
“Shit man, what did you do to him?”
Charles looked up from his work. “Nothing.”
At the sound of his voice, Number 17 gave a tiny squeak and cuddled closer into Nathan.
“No, seriously. Like, what did you do to him?”
Charles frowned, offended. “I didn’t do anything to him.”
“No, seriously.”
Charles regarded his man-made twin evenly. “Number 17,” he said, voice low and dangerous, ”did I do anything to you?”
Number 17 froze, like a rabbit that has realized that the shadow descending upon him is a striking hawk. Slowly, he shook his head left, right, and then dead center.
“Well, there you go,” said Charles, satisfied.
Nathan ran his fingers through Number 17’s hair, a stroking, calming gesture. Number 17 whimpered in relief and squirmed closer into Nathan’s chest. Charles felt a burning, vicious feeling that he couldn’t place rise in his own.
“So. Um. We’ll just go. Now.” Nathan led Number 17 out of the office. The Klokateers fell in step behind them.
Charles gamely tried to continue working, but the burning, vicious feeling wouldn’t let him be. After twenty minutes he shut his computer down, removed his tie in a fit, and leapt up to the elevator that lead to the Numbers’ rooms. He just… he just needed to blow off some steam, was all.
~~~****~~~
The Klokateers that had accompanied Master Explosion to Commander Ofdensen’s office respectfully waited until he had carried his prize out of earshot.
“I have fuckin’ got to know what went down in there,” said one.
“Who wants to go hit up the security department and see if the camera in his office caught some hot Commander-on-sex clone action?” said another.
They all raised their hands. A few high-fived one another and then together they happily ambled towards the security department. Once there, they gathered together in an atmosphere of friendly camaraderie. Number 674 opened a small fridge underneath his desk and passed around some longnecks. Number 44 came from… nowhere, apparently, since she worked in basement 27, sector G, which was miles away and settled on Number 253’s lap comfortably. Gallantly, he offered her his beer. Number 758 joked about making popcorn and then rushed off to microwave it when he found a stash of it on someone’s desk.
There was a smattering of cheers and catcalls when someone queued up the video on the big screen in the center of the room. For a moment it showed Charles sitting at his desk, serenely making his way through some paperwork. Number 17 slid onscreen, a switchblade of indeterminable origin in his hand. His face was awash in ecstatic, sadistic glee. It was a look that screamed ‘oh boy, I’m gonna get to stab this guy!’. Charles’s expression didn’t change as his hazel eyes slid towards the clone.
The screen went to static for precisely 2.07 seconds. One of them would time it later.
When the picture became viable again, Charles was back at his paperwork, still perfectly calm, as though he never had been disturbed. Number 17 was making little weepy noises, curled in the spot he would be found in hours later.
The assembled Klokateers sat in stunned silence.
“Shit man, maybe 1147’s right about this guy.”