Scandinavian Heartstrings, in Drop D.

Chapter 2.2 O.D. Autopilot

Nathan overrode his concern for Toki dubbing it 'unmetal' and didn't go check up on him, instead he returned to the couch and watched the remainder of the Kitchen Calamities Marathon with the other two. On the way to bed, though, the nagging paternal feeling took over again and he was drawn to the opposite end of the hall by the light under Toki's door.

"Toki?" He knocked on the door. No response, he knocked again. "Toki, it's Nathan." He said, as if his voice could be anyone's instead of the most brutal Death Metal vocalist in existence, but still no response. Pickles walked past at that moment and glanced down the hall to see Nathan looking worried outside Toki's room. He sauntered over to investigate. Nathan knocked again, "Toki?".

Pickles mirrored Nathan's worried expression and opened the door. An acrid smell hit them as they entered, but they dismissed it as the reek of the glue used for the model planes. The light was on and Toki was passed out on top of this bed facing the wall, still in only his jeans. He had pulled his hair over his face to block out the light and clutched a bottle to his chest. His laptop ran with one of those weird Japanese cartoons he loved so much.

Nathan sighed and began to rummage around in the closet for a blanket to throw over him. Pickles closed the Laptop and wandered over to the sleeping figure, glancing at his back. Maybe the scars were from a skiing accident? Norwegians loved that shit.

"Poor, lil' guy." Pickles said quietly to himself. He pried the bottle of Swedish mascara thinner out of Toki's hand, nose recoiling; That was the source of the smell. How the hell had he drunk so much of this crap? Pickles placed the almost empty bottle on the night stand next to a full ashtray and a pill bottle. A very familiar looking pill bottle. "Oh, shit." He said flatly. Panic hit him as he rolled Toki onto his back and pushed his hair out of his face. Foamy Akvavit vomit ran down his cheek with a small pool on the bed where his head had been. Pickles went into over-dose-autopilot clearing the unconscious man's airway then checking his pulse, temperature, pupils and breathing. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" He said as he checked each of the unconscious man's vitals, none of which were good.

"What? What's wrong?" Nathan asked as he turned around, blanket in hand. Pickles had his head on Toki's clammy bare chest and looked panic stricken. This answered Nathan's question for him. "Oh, shit." Nathan parroted Pickles and stared wide eyed at his drummer.

"Dood, we gotta get him to tha E.R.! He's fuckin' O.D.'ed on some o' tha strongest tranqu's I got! That shit's gotta come out right fuckin' NOW!" Pickles looked up at him desperately.

Nathan dropped the blanket then effortlessly scooped up the damp, limp mass of denim and hair and ran to the Mordhaus emergency room. Pickles ran ahead of him, opening doors and pushing the buttons on the slowest elevator in the fucking world!

They finally reached the Hospital wing of Mordhaus and were received by two medical Klokateers. "My Lords!" They said in unison.

"Quick! Toki's O.D.in' on Nembutal! Nembutal an' alcohol!" Pickles informed the medical staff and as quick as lightning the hoods produced a stretcher which Nathan placed him on. Toki was then attended to by hooded nurses who wheeled him away through the large double doors into the emergency ward.

Nathan and Pickles stood there staring after him, panting as they finally caught their breath.

"He's going to be alright, isn't he?" Nathan said franticly. "I mean, he's going to be alright, right? Isn't he? He'll be OK. I mean, we got to him in time. Right?"

"I donno, Nat'an, I donno." Pickles wanted to comfort his friend but also didn't want to lie to him, "He was pretty far gone, dood. Totally unresponsive. But he was still breathing.... Jus' barely, tho."