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“Gentlemen, it is now Christmas Day. We are facing a dire time.” Tribunal spokesman Senator Stampingston regarded the Tribunal members solemnly. “It has been revealed that Dethklok will be receiving holiday gifts from Corporate Headquarters. And I believe that we should fear for the worse.”
“Why should we fear what they will get?” General Crozier grumped. “Usually Corporate sends elaborate gift baskets to their clients. Why would Dethklok be an exception?”
“Not this time General.” Stampingston shook his head solemnly. “Our sources indicate that Dethklok will be receiving special gifts of the topmost secrecy. Whatever it is, we have reason to fear it.”
“Then we should act now while we have the chance!” General Crozier slammed his fists down on the table. “For all we know it could be a bomb designed to blow up New Jersey! We must attack now before its too late!”
“I pray for your patience General!” Vaater Orlaag hissed through his great big bushy beard.
Crozier sat down and wiped the spittle from his mouth. “My apologies gentlemen” he grumbled.
“Fortunately, we have a plan to seek out the contents of these ‘gifts.’” Stampingston turned to push a hidden button on the wall. On the other side of the room a door slid open to reveal a slender man dressed in the garments of registered Mordhaus employees. “Gentlemen, may I present Agent Sascha Konietzko. A highly trained mercenary cat burglar and part time counterfeiter. Specialties include sabotage, close combat, infiltration and poisons.” Stampingston paused to give the Tribunal a stern glare. “Of course we will not be needing his assassination skills.”
“Of course.” General Crozier muttered and exchanged a quick glance with Agent Konietzko.
“Let him seek out these giiiiiffffts....” Selatcia’s soft voice penetrated the room like a sharp knife. “There’s nothing more devastating than unwanted Christmas giiiiiffffftssss.....”
****
Several hours later Konietzko had infiltrated Mordhaus via a crate containing frozen ‘Christmas Geese’ patties destined for the Mordhaus Employee Cafeteria. Konietzko paused to double check his equipment before emerging from the crate. He had received direct orders from General Crozier to disregard documenting the contents of the corporate gifts and focus instead on annihilating Dethklok at all costs. In doing so the assassin was guaranteed a hefty bonus in his Swiss Bank account along with his own private island deep within the Bermuda Triangle.
A cold smile tugged at the corner of Konietzko thin lips, which was hidden by the black cowl. Others have tried to cross Dethklok in the past and failed. Not Konietzko, he will surpass them all and become a legend for destroying the untouchable members of Dethklok.
A thin razorblade clicked open in the assassin’s hands, then retracted after a double click.
Yes, he will take great pleasure in this kill.
****
Christmas had descended upon the halls of Mordhaus, and its dark presence made itself known like a main course of partially cooked fruitcake. Everywhere the sounds of hooded employees could be heard cheerfully hustling about as they went about their tasks. Even the employees toiling in the furnaces deep below the surface felt the festive mood, for it was this time of year that the usual fossil fuel used to heat the ‘haus was replaced by the mountains of Christmas Greeting Cards sent by the billions of devoted fans from around the world. The sooty employees shoveled the cards into the fires with a bit more bounce in their step in light of the holiday spirit. Upstairs the hallways echoed with the sounds of happy chattering and carol humming as the employees worked to deck the ‘haus with the most Metal of trimmings: barbed wire wreaths, bleached reindeer skulls, blinking red lights and bloodstained boughs of holly hung a-plenty throughout the dark halls of Mordhaus. Every one of the Mordhaus employee’s efforts were made in the name of pleasing their masters on this most joyous of days.
As for the infamous band itself, the members have been spending the majority of their Christmas Day in one of the larger rec rooms. Before the band, a magnificent custom black painted 20 foot tall X-Mas tree was being trimmed by a few eager employees with all the approved ornaments deemed to be most brutal, which were mainly little silver skulls and polished shark teeth that glistened ruthlessly among the tinsel and red electric lights. To top it off, a golden pentagram was to be placed on the very top of the tree to symbolize how unholy this Holy holiday can be.
The members of Dethklok regarded the tree trimming occasion with detached interest (excluding rhythm guitarist Toki Wartooth who was busy making ornaments out of fuzzy pipecleaners and maccaroni on the floor.) Next to the tree a life sized and very menacing Electronic Murder Santa 3000 stabbed a hapless elf while singing ‘Jingle Death Bells’ in a raspy electronic voice on loop. On the couches the rest of Dethklok sat wrapped up in their own activities: Pickles the Drummer was trying to will himself into a coma with alcohol, Skwisgaar Skwigelf played his guitar while watching Toki work on his juvenile crafts. Nathan Explosion was busy repainting a fingernail while eyeing the buffet table, and William Murderface stared intently at the blazing fire crackling merrily on the TV hanging from the meathooks.
The atmosphere was a far cry from the festive cheer that was felt throughout the rest of the ‘haus.
Pickles snorted in disgust as he watched a hooded employee secure the golden pentagram on top of the black X-Mas tree. “I fuckin’ HATE the holidays!” he snarled as he reached for one of the hipflasks he stored in the couch. “Nothin’ but a bunch of crappy TV movie reruns and shitty music being replayed and recycled by has-been musicians all day long.” He sniffed the contents of the flask before taking a swig. “Christmas is nothin’ but a big ball of hype all wrapped up into a bacon roll of disappointment!”
Toki growled from his spot on the rug. He was having a hard enough time shoving his brightly colored pipecleaners into the dry macaroni without the stupid noodles breaking on him, so he didn’t need Pickles to rain on his already raincloud of a Christmas parade. “Why’s you such big jerkoff abouts Christmas, huh?”
“If ya ever worked retail, you’d understand.” Pickles muttered darkly into his flask.
“I don’t get it at all” William Murderface shook his head in bemusement at the televised fireplace. “I mean, what ish it really all about? Ish Chrishtmash really about the retail shit or ish it shomething elshe more meaningful in a un-Hallmark channel short of way?”
“It’s about the presents dude. No doubt about it.” Pickles searched the couch for another hipflask.
“I thinks maybies we were supposed to gets present dis morning?” Skwisgaar asked while he idly fingered his guitar. “I has a feeling that I’ms goings to hate it. Pffft.”
Nathan had decided to make his way towards the buffet table near the tree where the usual Christmas fodder was elaborately displayed for their consumption. The lead singer looked past the beautifully decorated figgy pudding and pineapple ham to find the one thing in the X-Mas season that he actually took real pleasure in: the glorious Eggnog Fountain.
A grin of anticipation split across his face as he ladled up his skull goblet. The lead singer closed his green eyes to savor the 300-calorie-per-sip drink than violently spat it back out with a roar of rage. “What the hell is this shit? This is not eggnog! WHO THE FUCK MADE THIS!?”
Murderface curiously ambled over to investigate. He took a sample taste with his finger. “It’sh shoynog!” he exclaimed with equal fervor. “Shkwishgaar you dick!”
“What? I can’ts has the creams in de regulars ‘nog!” The Swede huffed as he took a dainty sip of his soynog from his skull goblet. “You wants me to die on de Christmas day, ah? You guys are dildos you know dat!”
Nathan gave his goblet a speculative look before risking another taste of the thick yellowish liquid. “Hey now, it isn’t so bad once you get over the gag reflex” the frontman took another experimental gulp. “I’m starting to like it, like a lot. Is there LSD in this?”
“No, but I can already tell ya that there ain’t enough rum in it!” Pickles unscrewed another hipflask while eyeing the soynog fountain. “Uncle Pickles gonna hafta remedy that! Heh heh...”
“Gentlemen! May I please have your attention?” Band Manager Charles Foster Ofdensen appeared unexpectedly from behind the gushing soynog fountain right before Pickles could complete his spiking task. The said drummer squawked and stuffed the flask upside down into the front of his pants in an attempt to hide what he was doing. “Sweet Jeebus Ofdensen!” Pickles cried as he danced around as cold rum ran down his groin. “A little warning next time!”
Charles pointedly ignored the dancing Pickles and readjusted his glasses before addressing his band as a whole while pulling out an envelope from his coat. “Thank you for your patience. I am here to announce that your company gifts took far longer than expected to complete. As company policy I shall read you the Corporate Statement Christmas Card wishing you all a Happy Holi-“
“Big deals, who cares!” Toki scoffed as another maccaroni noodle shattered between his fingers. “Shuts up and gives us our presents alreadies!”
“It better be a jumbo jet!” Murderface fingered his trusty left boot-knife. “I’ll be greatly dishappointed otherwishe!”
“Well its not my choice on what you get as a gift. That was for Corporate to decide.” Charles tucked the unread card back into the envelope as a means to hide his waning patience. “Due to the new regulations and upgrades of security protocol, this is the only gift you will receive this year from anyone and/or anywhere. So have at it.” Charles then smartly snapped his fingers and five beefy hooded employees appeared from the doorway, each carrying a black box tied with barbed silver string. A white tag hung from the bow with the name of each band member written individually in beautiful calligraphy. The employees placed the box in front of their respective owners and promptly disappeared with Charles leading the way. The Manager had already been informed on the contents of the boxes and did not want himself or any of the employees to be present to bear the brunt of the band’s wrath once the gifts were revealed.
Pickles was the first to tear his gift open “What the–!” he cried in horror and nearly spilled his goblet of soynog all over himself.
“Oh hell fuckings NO!” Skwisgaar spat as his box trembled angrily in his hands. Murderface was left utterly speechless at what he found.
SWEATERS. Corporate had sent them fucking SWEATERS as their only Christmas gift. Not year-round sweaters, but horribly festive Christmas sweaters with big pictures of various holiday mascots woven into the fronts. Grinning gingerbread men, jolly Santas, smirking snowmen and festive trees. All of the sweater’s motifs were accented with countless multicolored electric blinking lights that were probably powerful enough to direct a landing plane in a foggy night. And to add insult to injury, the color schemes were in Easter shade PASTELS.
In the background the gravely song recording from the Electronic Murder Santa 3000 mixed with the sad music of Toki’s wails of despair.
“This is brutal, and not in the metal way.” Nathan had waited to see what the rest of his band’s gifts were before starting on his own gift, of which now he was determined to leave untouched and in the trash.
Up somewhere in the ceiling a hidden intercom crackled to life with their manager’s no-nonsense voice echoing throughout the room *BzZt!* “You WILL open your gift Nathan. And I suggest that you all wear them for the remainder of the day if you want next month’s paychecks.”*BzZT!* the intercom clicked off.
“Shit! I forgot he could do that!” Nathan grumbled and curled his lip in distaste as he unwrapped his gift. He found that his sweater revealed to be the most degrading of all: A picture of fucking lime green light-up MITTENS. Whomever thought that the combination of lime green and mittens were any way Christmasy deserved to have their hands and feet nailed to the road and be run over with a semitruck 100 times. Exactly 100 times.
“Heheh. I’ma tree! An effin’ Christmas Tree!” Pickles had already slipped his sleeveless purple sweater on and was holding his arms out. “Quick, someone water me with booze before I dry up!” he half joked.
Toki pulled a face at his orange gingerbread man sweater he now wore “His eyes blink red like a demon maybe?” Toki always tried to look on the bright side of things.
“Haha! Those lights blink over your nipples Toki!” Skwisgaar snickered as he slipped his baby blue sweater over his head.
“So’s? Your snowman makes you like a fatty Skwisgaar!”
“No it don’t...oh, maybies you right.” The Swede tugged at his oversized sweater miserably, the neckline nearly hung over his left shoulder.
“Why do I get the Shanta shweater?” Murderface complained as he struggled to shove his head through the neck hole. “Ish it becaushe they think I’m fat? Maybe I should jusht grow a beard and get a job at the Shanta mall and go kill myshelf while I’m at it. Fuckers!”
“This day couldn’t be any worse if my family were here right now.” Nathan snarled as he scratched at the woolly fabric irritating his skin. He could almost feel the radiation from those blinking lights around the mittens burning holes through his flesh. “I feel like I need to get really hammered now. And I mean NOW.”
“I votes we has my soynogs, ja?” Skwisgaar raised a hand enveloped in a sweater sleeve.
Toki smiled sweetly. “Can’s I maybe has some candy canes to washings de soy grossness down?”
“You know the rulesh Toki!” Murderface narrowed his eyes and wagged a finger at the sneaky rhythm guitarist. “Only NutraShweet shugar candy for you!”
“Aww....”
****
It was now lunch break for the employees.
Agent Konietzko treaded cautiously down the quiet halls of Mordhaus. He did not allow the silence to fool him, he knew that cameras were hiding everywhere documenting each employee’s every move to regulate inconsistencies that might arouse suspicion. Konietzko had taken it upon himself to study and adopt the basic Mordhaus hand signals and lingo to get by as a low level Snack Caterer. It was enough to get close to the members of Dethklok.
As luck would have it, he was able to convince one of the many official Toilet Unpluggers to divulge in a hushed voice about the band’s current whereabouts celebrating their Christmas Day. It was exactly what Konietzko needed to know. After silencing the unfortunate Unplugger with a well placed toothpick and stashing the body in the broom closet, the would-be-assassin casually slinked through the hallways in search of that special room.
****
Pickles let out a mighty belch that had spatters of soynog following after it. “I sure ain’t gettin’ drunk off this stuff, but I know that I’m gettin’ bloated from it!”
“I knows what you mean!” Skwisgaar agreed as he guzzled another goblet of his dairy free ‘nog. “But once you starts you can’ts stop!”
“Are you sure there’s no LSD in this?” Nathan gurgled over a mouthful of the sweet soy, egg and nutmeg elixir. “I might have to hook an IV to my arm or something to this stuff...”
“Oh man! I’m startings to get stomach hurts from all dis!” Toki groaned as he again dipped his goblet directly into the fountain. “But its likes addictions! I think maybe I pukes it all up soon and starts vicious cycle again!”
“If you do, aim for my shweater!” Murderface put himself into Toki’s line of fire and whispered his plan. “That way we can shove them into the trash without that shouless robot knowing!”
“Speakings of robots...can’s we please turns off dat murderings Santa thing?” Skwisgaar pointed with his goblet at the animatronic Electronic Murder Santa 3000 still singing away in its gravely voice while murdering an elf. “It givings me migraines from dat stabbings!”
“Aw crap!” Pickles cursed. “The soynog’s runnin’ low. I’m gonna hafta get another jug from under the table.” The redheaded drummer got down on the floor and bravely crawled below the buffet table in search of the refill jug while grumbling to himself. His reluctance was not without cause, employees have been known to disappear under buffet tables before. “Wish me luck guys!” he shouted before his sneakered feet disappeared from under the tablecloth.
Toki sniffed and waved mournfully. “Good’s luck Pickles! I hopes you doesn’t dies horribly under ‘dere!”
“I sure hopes not!” Skwisgaar scowled at the spot where the drummer’s feet had disappeared. “Who else is goings to makes ‘Pickles Specials De-light Vodka Waffles’ for breakfast? Nobody, dat’s who!”
It was at this moment when Agent Konietzko discreetly entered the room. The assassin eyed the members of Dethklok making themselves sick on the holiday drink, noting that one was missing. No matter, he could go after the straggler after he had dealt with the others. His sharp hooded eyes laid upon the soynog fountain innocently spurting away on the buffet table. The assassin allowed himself the satisfaction of a smirk. Dethklok was making his job far too easy.
As quietly as possible Konietzko walked over the buffet table and immediately busied himself tidying the sugar cookie plates and meatball crockpots, making himself look like the designated Snack Caterer he had prepared himself to be. All the while he casually made his way towards the soynog fountain with a deadly vial of cyanide hidden in his gloved hand. Konietzko placed one thumb over the cap in preparation of emptying it into the fountain. He could almost taste that Mai Tai cocktail waiting for him in the Bermuda Triangle.
“Hey, you there buddy!” Murderface pointed at Konietzko across the room. The assassin wisely slipped the deadly vial back into his glove, unemptied. “You looksh like you could ushe shome Chrishtmash cheer, what’sh your name pal?”
“Number 2826 Toilet Unplugger Division M’lord.” Konietzko replied, using the dead employee’s ID as an alias. The assassin had not expected a direct confrontation with his targets.
Murderface nodded with apparent understanding. “I shee...it’sh gotta be tough living with thoshe toiletsh all day long. Lemme give you shomething for your troublesh!”
Before Konietzko could protest Murderface had shoved the hideous Santa sweater over the assassin’s head. Konietzko’s perplexed expression was hidden under the employee hood as he regarded the offensive garment on his lean body. “Shee? Happy Holidaysh dude.” Murderface smirked smugly.
Nathan’s eyes widened when he caught on to Murderface’s ploy. “Hey, yeah. I think I have a little Holiday Cheer to dish out as well!” He pulled off his heinous mittens sweater and forced it likewise on the assassin.
“Oh! I has a great gift for’s you too!” Toki added as his gingerbread man sweater joined its brethren.
“Ja, I thinks dis is perfect size for you’s!” Skwisgaar’s oversized snowman sweater slipped easily over the other sweater layers.
Konietzko glowered at the band from under his hood. Not only was he getting sweltering hot wearing all four corporate x-mas sweaters, but he also now looked liked a bloated seal. And not the cute kind of bloated seal either.
“Lookin' sharp there pal!” Murderface grinned.
Skwisgaar nodded his approval “Oh dat’s lookings good!”
“For reals!” Toki added. “Dat color looks peachy on you’s!”
“It really brings out your ah...elbows. Yeah.” Nathan agreed.
Suddenly the loud noise of breaking ceramics and glass reverberated across the room. All eyes whipped towards the buffet table where Pickles rolled out dramatically in a cloud of dust. The drummer had looked like he had been through hell and back. Coughing and sputtering from the grime of his travels, Pickles stood up and dusted himself off. The purple corporate x-mas tree sweater had not fared well in his adventures, it was tragically sullied and shredded beyond repair. “You guys are not gonna believe all the shit I found down there!” Pickle’s green eyes were alight and eager with stories to tell. In his hands he held an industrial sized jug labeled SOYNOG in stenciled letters. The redheaded drummer paused when he finally noticed the sweater-bloated Mordhaus employee (Konietzko) among his bandmates. “What’d I miss?”
“Awesome Pickles! Now we can get really hammered!” Nathan turned from Konietzko to better greet Pickles and the soynog jug.
“Hey! No cutting in line, dick!” Murderface glared at a sour faced Swede as he stood to defend his spot in front of the soynog fountain.
“Pffft! Who says we has line? It’s my fuckings soynog so’s I gets first tasting!” Skwisgaar jabbed a boney elbow into the bassist to knock him away.
Konietzko’s hand reached for the switchblade knife tucked inside his belt, his eyes focused on Nathan’s unprotected neck at the spot where the frontman’s spinal cord met with the base of his skull. The entire band was completely oblivious to the disguised assassin’s murderous intent as he charged at Nathan with weapon in hand. As unprepared as the band was, nothing could have prepared Konietzko for what happened next.
In retaliation to the elbow jab Murderface whipped around to face Skwisgaar with a gap-toothed snarl plastered on his face “DOUCHEBAG!” the bass player violently pushed Skwisgaar away with all his might. “OH FU–!” Skwisgaar’s arms flailed about madly as he tried to regain both balance and footwork on his skinny legs as he traveled backwards. Unfortunately his booted feet treaded into Toki’s macaroni domain and was instantly entangled in the many fuzzy pipecleaners that were strewn about the floor.
“NOOOOO!” Toki shrieked in horror at the massacre of his crafts and dove to save the rest from Skwisgaar’s wildly dancing feet, the rhythm guitarist collided into his bandmate in a tackle that would have made Nathan’s high school football couch proud. Both guitarists flew through the air from the impact and their flight was only stopped by crashing into their unsuspecting drummer. Poor Pickles was taken completely by surprise and only had time to cry out as he was thrown into a tangle of Scandinavian limbs and hair. The precious soynog flew out of Pickle’s grasp before the three hit the ground.
Right before Konietzko was about to stab into Nathan’s neck the flying jug hit the assassin in the head and being made of cheap plastic, the jug didn’t stand a chance against Konietzko’s face and it burst apart on impact. The assassin paused in his assault to sway from the effects of a mild concussion before the liquid soynog soaked through all four layers of his sweaters and into the exposed wires of the countless blinking lights. As soon as it did, Konietzko’s limbs jerked about violently as his nervous system began to fry from the blinking lights overloading at the intrusion of the holiday drink. The assassin’s body began to glow as the sweater’s voltage increased tenfold from the soynog conduction. As Konietzko’s spasms intensified his body wandered dangerously close to the Electronic Murder Santa 3000. With a wet meaty sound the Santa’s stabbing knife embedded itself into Konietzko’s shoulder and the robot short-circuited and started to malfunction from additional electricity conducted from the sweaters through the knife.
The entire band of Dethklok could only watch in horrified fascination as both Konietzko and the Electronic Murder Santa 3000 twirled around in a weird sort of macabre waltz as sparks and blood flew like confetti in their wake. Konietzko’s screams melded in perfect harmony with the robot Santa’s sped up ‘Jingle Death Bells’ song (while being sung in a voice that sounded very similar to a certain band of singing rodents) while the robot continued to repeatedly stab the hapless assassin before both inevitably collided with the black painted X-Mas tree. Due to the paint being highly flammable, the entire tree and its unfortunate victims ignited instantly with a menacing WHOOSH sound. In addition to the massacre, the decorated tree’s electric red lights sputtered and burst apart from the additional electricity and Toki’s homemade macaroni ornaments exploded into blue flames in the fire.
It was the most brutal and tragic spectacle that any of the members of Dethklok have ever seen on a Christmas Day. They watched with eyes bright with awe as the Electronic Murder Santa 3000's plastic body melted away with the charred remains of Konietzko’s body still clutched in it’s murderous embrace. The band’s reverie was broken when the robot’s music chip fused from the heat and its’ horrid chipmunk music ceased. Finally able to process what they saw, the band made their approval known with coos of ‘Ooos’ and ‘Ahhhs’ at the spectacle while clapping their hands in delight.
Nathan stopped his applause to look oddly at Murderface, who was openly sobbing at the scene. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Was that guy your boyfriend or something?”
Murderface grabbed Nathan and rest of his bandmates into a giant group hug “It just hit me guysh! Thish is what Chrishtmash ish all about!”
“What, killings de employees?” Skwisgaar asked through the chokehold.
“No.”
“Makings macaroni death traps?” Toki gasped.
“No!”
“Gettin’ hella drunk?” Pickles asked.
“No--err, that too I guessh.”
“Then what the fuck is it all about!?” snarled Nathan, disliking the prolonged group hug.
“It’sh about pal’in around and having a good time while shit blowsh up!” Murderface’s green eyes shone with nonalcoholic Christmas Spirit. “Merry Chrishtmash you dicksh!”
“Well, I guess ya can’t argue with that.” Pickles conceded.
Suddenly, their Christmas Day didn’t’ seem so dismal after all. And together, the band watched in silent appreciation as the tree (and Konietzko) burned away into what will be known as the most brutal fuckin’ X-Mas day ever (for reals!)
FIN