Um, here's some stuff you might not know or get that I'll explain...Jane Doe: False or fake name used for an unidentified female person. When she said, "ionno." say it out loud and you'll get it. she's saying "I don't know" but slurred.
I don't own Gorillaz at the moment.
PROLOGUE
The sound reverberated through her skull. It made colors pulse and bloom behind her eyelids to the beat of the drums. she couldn't quite hear the singing, but it was beautiful. The heavy bass line stroked its way up her spine and settled near her throat lovingly. The pace, steady and assuring, was twisted and dark. The notes hit flats and sharps that twanged.
She wanted to curl up and pull her knees up to her chest, but instead she lay still. There was something covering her. Unconcerned, she thought with wonder, 'what is this...sound?'
Beautiful and haunting, she lay and listened. The track quietly ended. A second of silence where she felt sad that it was gone, and then maniacal laughter shook her awake. Startled and scared, her eyes burst open. The first words she's ever heard stole her breath.
"Feel Good!'
"Alright, then. How many you got?" A lazy American accented man asked.
"Only on' Jane Doe 'ere fo ya." The loose faced mortician gestured to a small female body on one of the tables. The corpses child-like, blue tinged feet stuck out from under the dirty white sheet, with a tag dangling from the right big toe.
"Hn. 'kay fill this out." The American Accented guy handed the mortician some paper work on a cheap plastic clipboard with knaw marks on it. The similarity of this, to a UPS delivery was 'bout identical. That included the awkward chatting.
Shivering, American Accent asked about the music playing from a stereo in the corner. "So who does this song, again?"
"Somefin' from the Gorillaz. Ma niece is in love wif 'em. Burned me a CD. It's good, I guess."
American Accent's mind wandered. This was definitely one of the worst cared for morgues he'd ever been to. Was that blood stains on his computer chair? Jesus. Would rather work at a McDonalds in a vegan neighborhood than keep this job. Stupid recession. And damn~, it was almost mid night. The dead guy picker upper gets horrible hours.
"'kay. All filled out."
A maniacal laugh came from the stereo in the corner.
The mortician was handing back the clipboard, as the American Accent was about to exclaim that he knew this song from the radio, he was interrupted.
The Jane Doe corpse bolted upright, into a sitting position. The white sheet slid from her face and fell into her lap, covering her from the hips down. An awful keening slid from its throat, and it threw up black liquid, staining the sheet in its lap. It retched violently and trembled along its spine.
There was dead silence, except from some rasped breathing and the 'Feel Good ' mantra for what seemed like a long time. Her head turned and dark eyes focused on the two men. Her naked torso was as corpse white as the rest of her. She sat there looking at them, with herself being exposed. Her dark hair didn't hide her.
The American Accent screamed and ran backwards out of the morgue. The Mortician threw up and tasted peanut butter. He'd touched her. Touched it's insides. His stomach churned and he threw the clipboard at the Jane Doe and ran, slamming the heavy metal door behind him.
The clipboard clipped her on the side of her head and she cried out. Who were those scary people? They hurt her! A very small and light red seeped from her head and onto her cheek. Jane Doe trembled and stood up from the table. Wearing nothing at all, she cautiously wandered across the room toward the stereo, listening to Gorillaz- 'Feel Good inc.'
What did I do? I must've done somefin'? Oh, no...I did somefin' didn't I? What did I do, again? I can't stay here...they hurt me...Where am I? Where can I go? What is this place anyway? She thought poking an uncovered corpse curiously and clueless.
'Feel Good Inc.' ended and the mortician's niece's voice came on.
"Hey, Uncle! That was the Gorillaz! Aren't they, like, the best? And 2D's HOT~!" She laughs. (What's 'hawt'?) "It's sad that they went to Point Nemo, though. They're so far away! Hope everything's okay for them. And can you believe it? Some crazy dude's offering to fly people to Point Nemo! The place farthest from any landmass in the world! He's like a block away from your dead people place, right? Agh. I'm rambling...well love ya, Uncle! See ya!-" The stereo turns itself off when the CD finishes.
Jane Doe the zombie stood thoughtfully in the empty silence. Finally she claps her hands together and mumbles in a soft voice, her first words.
"Gorillaz, Feel Good...Point Nemo, it is."
"What da holy hell, man! What da HOLY HELL!" The American Accent screamed at the mortician.
"she was dead! I swear!" The mortician shouted back.
"Not. Good. Enough. Apparently!" American Accent snarled back.
"I-It was breathing." The mortician whispered, almost to himself.
The metal door that led to the morgue was pushed open a little, making the two men freeze. The door swung all the way open on its rusty hinges making a horrible horror movie screech.
In the better lighting, they got a better look at the little monster, as she stepped into the room.
Her face was heart shaped; pale, but not like a corpse anymore. She had long spiky hair that reached the bottom of her shoulder blades, and bangs that flopped onto her face and got in her eyes. Her hair and eyes were an indistinguishable dark color. Her eyes were wide.
"Hey. That's mine." The mortician pointed at the huge black sweatshirt that she wore.
The sweatshirt swamped her small frame, it reached half way down her thighs and her hands were hidden somewhere in the sleeves. She looked almost pitiful now. Like a little lost ghost.
"Is cold." She spoke.
The two men twitched jumpily. Was this someone back from the dead? American Accent turned to the mortician.
"Um. Didn't you... like take out her insides?"
"Maybe. Some." The mortician answered, slack jawed.
Apparently, he wasn't concerned about the legal medical procedure thing he was supposed to follow.
"Come here, sweet'art." The mortician did his best to sound gentle. Ew.
American Accent watched her toes curl back and forth as she said, "You hurt." And pointed with her right hand at her head. There was some very odd looking blood in her hair, on the right side of her head...Blood?
"You are a horrible mortician."
"I'm sorry sweet'art. I won't 'urt you. I promise." The mortician ignored the annoying American guy and coaxed his little monster to come closer.
The mortician gently gripped her sleeve with his hand, and stood to the side of her. He pulled out a stethoscope and slipped his hand down the back of her (his) sweatshirt with it. The cold metal made her eyes go wide and suck in a breath through her teeth. But all the mortician could hear was the slow musical pattern, that filled his mind with thoughts of money and power, and what came with it. He'd be rich. Loaded. Wouldn't have to move a single muscle if he didn't fancy it. The sound fed his rapaciousness. Thu-thump!..Thu-thump!..Thu-thump! Beautiful...
American Accent couldn't take much more of this. He could see exactly what that creepy mortician had in his groaty mind. He'd sell her. She'd be a rat for the rest of her life. A science experiment. He hated greedy effing wankers like that. Profiting off of someone else's misery.
He pulled out his crappy cell phone from his faded work jeans and dialed the police. Maybe she was a monster, but she was alive and showed she could feel pain and the cold.
The cell rang quietly, but startled the mortician out of his trance. He b*tch slapped the phone from his hands, and it hit the cement floor, cracking the screen.
"No, effing way. This is mine and mine alone. No little half-assed sh*t is gonna ruin this."
American Accent guy straightened from his slouch to his full height. He may just be a lanky 5"7 dude, but he didn't take sh*t like this. Not even in this situation. No more sh*t. None. He just couldn't take it anymore.
"You heard me." The mortician snarled. "Some lil' bag o' lard pus-"
A fist slammed into the mortician's face like a train, making a crunch and making him crumple to the floor.
Without thinking anything at all American Accent had grabbed Jane Doe's hand and pulled her outside onto the dirty night filled streets. He'd dragged her 'bout half a block, before he noticed the way she was looking at him. She was looking at his hand, and he noticed it was changing into a light blue-ish color. He'd never punched anyone before. It hurt, but he felt better now.
"Hurt?" She asked.
"Um, no." He stopped walking. She kinda creeped him out a little. Could she speak full sentences? Does she know who she is, or what's going on? "What's your name?"
She looked at him with her big eyes.
"Ionno."
Oh, this was so not good. What was he going to do. It's not like he could keep her like a pet. And he wasn't going to bring her back to the morgue, or some science place, either.
"What do you like?" He asked, trying to get a feel for her state.
Her eyes lit up for the first time, showing some life, but she still didn't smile.
"Gorilla."
"Uh...ok, then." This is so weird.
She tugged on his sleeve with her little hand.
"No. Go to Gorilla." She emphasized and pointed across the street at a house with peeling gray paint and a mud lawn decorated with a gaudy pink flamingo. The roof had a piece of plywood nailed to it and at least a dozen miscellaneous items. But what really stood out was the giant banner pinned from one corner of the roof's overhang to the other. It read in fat, red, graffiti letters,-
'FLIGHTS TO GORILLAZ HEADQUARTERS! POINT NEMO, NO MAN'S LAND! BEWARE OF MURDOC'S-'
The last part had been slashed through and was indecipherable.
He paused for a minute and felt almost a little hysterical. He tried to make a little sense of all the craziness and failed.
"Ok...So you meant the Gorillaz?
"G-Gorilla."
"Gore-ill-AZ." He pronounced slowly.
"G-Go-rill-AH-" She copied with no problem 'till her voice abruptly cut out.
Apparently, she couldn't say 'Zs.' That was pretty weird, but kinda cute... He sighed deeply, coming to a conclusion.
"Ok, so that's where you want to go?"
She nodded vigorously, making her hair swing.
"Okay. Okay." He said to himself, gathering his wits.
He took her hand and walked across the street.
Inside a rotting house, with peeling gray paint on 23rd street, sat an older man in his kitchen, busy scratching designs into the table with his keys.
He wore jeans that had seen better days, and a gray T-shirt that said, 'Just Another Judgment Day,' in darker gray.
He was feeling kinda of put out that no one had taken him up on his offer yet. He didn't care if they paid. Well, it'd be nice if they did. He just wanted to piss Murdoc off on general principles. Murdoc had gone to Plastic Beach, because he'd wanted to get away from annoying loan sharks, ex-'girlfriends', Satan, ect. ect.
He'd known Murdoc back in the day...Since then he'd gotten lessons on flying and now 'bout 20 years later was feeling up to some petty payback. He was sure someone who needed to get away like Murdoc, either from the law or something else, would show up, but it'd been a week already.
He finished scratching a whale with stripes into the into the table. It looked pretty good.
His door bell rang, the Twilight Zone's theme.
Out on the porch, American Accent was sweating nervously. Jane Doe tugged on his sleeve and found in her heart a tentative, sunny smile, that warmed her cheeks.
"Thanks."
My first fanfic for Gorillaz! This was the prologue, so it's a bit longer than the other chapters might be... Did everyone understand what was going on? Maybe I should have given them names...
Well, reviews will tell me! Did you like it? Could you understand it? Should I go back and give them names? (The girl will get a permanent name next chapter). Any mistakes to correct?
Thank you for reading!