2D's eyes flashed open, and a yelp of surprise followed. Once again the nauseating sound of bass hitting rock bottom flung his body up from the covers, and before he knew it, he was a jumbled mess of limbs and sheets on the floor. After a while he figured that he'd grow used to the frequent disturbances, but for some reason this was impossible since his lack of sleep rendered him almost completely unable to stay calm for long periods of time.
He found his hand somewhere under the covers and pulled hard on his face with exasperation. He ran his fingers over the wrinkles of his bags and his facial hair. He cursed the raving tunes blasting through the walls of his room but hadn't the strength to spit it out as angrily as he'd like to. Damn those hooligans, he mentally swore.
2D tried to lazily toss his fluffy bindings over the side of his bed, failed, then stumbled to his feet and hobbled in the dark over to the side of the room where the light switch lay. Once his coal black eyes adjusted, he looked round the room and realized for the hundredth time that it desperately needed to be cleaned. Too many times had 2D wandered in here with empty beer cans, cigarettes, pizza and torn clothes after the day hours were long gone. The articles found themselves a home anywhere and everywhere in his quarters and the place smelled somewhat of fermenting meat, but 2D passed out in here so much that it seemed odorless and meaningless to him.
Last night, although 2D was feeling rather disgruntled and grouchy, he gave into the party animal urges within him and now he was regretting it as always. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and saw that he not only had bruises on some parts of his body (indicating he'd bumped into some walls or he'd been jumping off tables onto the hard floor) but purple spots on his neck, and that his underwear was having the hardest time clinging to his waist. He'd been drinking last night for sure. That must have been why his head felt as though it were being crushed by a steamroller. Almost the entire day prior to this one was a blur.
2D resolved to stop the bad habits he developed as a result of living in this complex, like he did every day. The sick-colored skin and unshaven lip he saw when he peered into the mirror was his reminder to keep that resolve, but alas, his will was dwindling down to zero and his attention span was doing the same. In a place where you could rock the house all day and dance yourself silly all night, anyone who used to have cares or priorities would instantly find them dashed, and this blue-haired man was no exception. Yet he still tried to commit to his goal, even though temptation and procrastination sidetracked him at every opportunity. He was either to be commended for his determination or ridiculed for his utter stupidity.
Once 2D decided that it was time to stop staring into the black voids of his eyes, he rummaged through the hurricane that was his room for some rags that weren't too stained or torn, made his way over to the door, and poked his head out into the hallway. What should have been warm, welcoming rays of natural sunlight was like the blinding synthetic kind that surgeons put over a person when they're about to tear open a stomach. It shone in from the big windows at the other end of the hallway, and aside from the room the music was blaring from, it was one of the only floors in the whole complex on which you could catch a glimpse of light from the outside. Feel Good Tower, after all, was modeled in much the same way a prison was, but its purposes were strictly for partying and partying only.
The area outside of 2D's room—that is, the entirety of Feel Good Tower—was a place he referred to as the Wilderness. The Wilderness was full of all kinds of wild, savage creatures such as the scandalous, scantily-clad strumpets that prowled the halls at night. Or, more frequently, the raving fanatics that booked a stay here to get access to the never-ending concerts featuring the fantastic band of freaks everyone knew as Gorillaz.
2D knew to be extra careful with his step when stepping into this jungle, lest he be snared by some depraved wildcat and be scarred even deeper by their claws. He supposed that was to be expected when you were locked in a tower with the members of the greatest band the world has ever known, but he still couldn't comprehend the sheer insanity of the fans or even the people who weren't fans but who were merely looking for a good time.
He did suppose, however, that if none of these things were true that there would be no reason for this place to be aptly but disgustingly called Feel Good Inc.
2D's fellow band mates were around here somewhere, he guessed (except Noodle, who'd been missing for quite some time now). On the top floor, most likely, for that was the where the incessant dance tracks that woke him from his much-needed rest emanated. His room and Russel's and Murdoc's rooms were all located on the same floor, and said floor's main lift had been blocked off so that people couldn't invade their privacy whenever the hell they felt like it. Although that didn't stop a few die-hard hackers who were committed and lacking enough of a life to rewire the main lift so that it would stop on this floor. The whole reason why 2D whipped his head back and forth and back and forth quick as a whip was to make sure there were no surprise visitors. Only when he was absolutely positive that the coast was clear did he put out a jittering foot onto the hallway carpet.
Speaking of his band mates, 2D had not actually seen either the bassist or the drummer return to their quarters when the young nights aged into old men. Maybe he was just missing them, but his assumption was that they were always on the top floor partying and never came down to breathe even once. But Russel was way less of a partier than Murdoc was (he had to have several beers before he thought of getting up and dancing, even), and so was probably the one the singer never saw go into his room after hours. 2D was always the first one to turn in, due to his low partying capacity, so why or how would ever know of their whereabouts?
At any rate, 2D figured now was a great time to head up to the party floor where the heart of Feel Good jungle was located. His stomach had begun to complain, so he decided to go steal some breakfast in the form of leftover hot wings, pineapple pizza and the margaritas that liked to put him back into the deep sleep he just woke up from. In the event that food became scarce, someone could be bothered or threatened to order more, although paying for a boatload of treats to be delivered to a tower higher than the highest skyscraper was sure to put an enormous hole in that poor sap's wallet. But at least there always something to eat, even if it was just junk.
The smell of that food wafted all the way down to Gorillaz' floor, and while it smelled delicious, the idea of it being breakfast was almost as revolting as the pictures 2D saw hanging on the hallway walls of the foul-smelling Murdoc and his many whores. A taste as putrid as Murdoc himself was in his mouth as he passed each painting by on the way to the secret lift hidden behind fake stairwell entrance. Why savour and glorify such saucy, narcissistic things? 2D would never understand that man and his wicked ways.
This reminded 2D, though, of another part of his resolve he'd been meaning to get accomplished. On the way up to the party floor he recited a few improvised callouts he planned to throw Murdoc's way, many of which were filled to the brim with utmost disgust and fury.
"Yew gotta let us outta here, Murdoc! It's-it's-it's gone on too long and I'm exhausted and I wanna record somefink fa' once and I miss 'angin' out wif' the band and I don't wanna hear those bloody B-list tunes anymore and I'm tired o' those harlots o' yers tryna 'ave their way wi' me! Yew'd be a sodding monster to not let us go!"
Yes, that was good. Listed the reasons 2D wanted to leave, listed the things he hated most about this place. Voice was of proper loud and angry tone. Words like that to get on his back would be enough to bring Murdoc round, of course. Except that the times 2D had tried this before, he'd either gotten yelled at himself or smacked in the head, but what were a few insults and slaps to something as important as this? Couldn't hurt much more to give it another try.
The closer the Brit got to the top floor, the more the bass rattled the old, creaky industrial-grade lift with each dropping beat. The ding! signifying that the lift reached its destination was inaudible, just like every other sound that couldn't compete against the music's volume. Saying that the sound hit 2D in the face when the doors opened up was an understatement—a phantom musical wind actually caused him trip over backwards and hit his head on the lift's back wall with a loud thud.
2D quickly recovered from this, though, as he was no longer fazed by any physical pain that came his way. His eyes surveyed the room as he stepped inside: a dimly-lit auditorium tinged red by the strobe lights, complete with three stages, one of which had lengthy red curtains draping over it like waterfalls. The second section of the room consisted of giant monitors that surrounded the viewer on three sides, and the final section possessed equally giant windows with one of the only views to the outside world in the entire complex. It was a fairly decent place to play music in; the acoustics were heavenly and the audience had plenty of room to pop, lock and drop it.
But now, when 2D looked round, the audience and the partygoers weren't even up to do a simple two-step. Literally hundreds of bodies were strewn about the floor, sprawled out like snow angels whose ropes were drenched by alcohol-rich vomit. For some odd reason, not even the booming tunes that shook the world seemed to rouse them. Bumping into airborne booties was common, as was being kicked by the randomly twitching legs sticking up like weeds. 2D wouldn't have been surprised if some of those poor people were actually dead, but he knew that as soon as nighttime rolled back around again that they'd spring to life and be back at their loony antics once more. It wasn't like anyone gave a damn about how hungover they were the next day, anyway.
Grimacing with disgust, 2D began a game of hopscotch as he hunted for spots to place his feet on the body-less parts of the floor. Along the way, he made sure to switch off all of the amps and woofers blasting music into his ears to avoid being felled again by a storm in treble clef. Now that it was dead silent, all the sick moaning and groaning from ill partygoers echoed eerily off the walls of the auditorium and sent shivers up the singer's spine. Across the room on one of the smaller stages, 2D spotted a reclining Murdoc being fondled by a pair of chocolate-skinned women as he himself fondled his beloved crimson bass guitar. If it hadn't been for some of the brighter red lights highlighting him, 2D might have thought that Murdoc, too, had been buried underneath the landfill of bodies in the room just like every other poor soul in here.
Murdoc was busy strumming chords aimlessly on his bass when 2D approached him. To acknowledge the singer he merely gave a low grunt and a derisive chuckle of some sort, not even bothering to lay his eyes on the bumbling moron. The women feeling on him, did bother to look up, however, if only to evaluate how fun he might be to ride, but turned their attention back to Murdoc when his haughty, abrasive voice came out.
"There's no more pizza left. Waitin' on a few hundred more boxes. There's still some rum left, if ya wanna, I dunno, drown that miserable face o' yers, though," the Englishman grumbled. "Might even look better than when ya wash it with soap."
2D unconsciously swallowed the lump of spit in his throat. His stomach was practically threw a tantrum when it received news of the lack of food. His hands rose up to make his fingers dance frantically with each other as the words he intended to sling at Murdoc instead turned into sputters that spilled right out of his mouth. "A-any wings left? I d-don't really care wot's round, I jus' wont a bite o' somefink."
"If ya dig might find some chicken bones wit' some meat left on them. Maybe. Might have to nick 'em from someone's pockets. Yer used to that, though, aren't ya?" The bassist took a second to scan 2D, who was looking more or less like a chicken bone himself. He focused his gaze back on his instrument and continued playing. "Wot do you want, eh? You can figure out what's left on the menu, can't you? I know you're not that stupid."
"I-I know, but I was jus' wond'rin. 'Aven't had anyfink since last night and–!"
"Get on with it ol'ready," Murdoc groaned with a roll of his eyes.
2D cringed just slightly and cleared his throat. In an effort to calm his nerves he glanced round the room at all the party zombies, but that just sent yet another chill up his already-rattling spine. The sight did, however, remind him of the next item on his list that he wanted to present (hopefully more assertively) to Murdoc. But the assertive part had flown south just that quick. "A-any chance of us gettin' back on tha' road again, soon, Murdoc? Hopefully in tha'… next few days o' so?"
"Hm?" Murdoc was briefly caught off guard by one of the women tracing her fingers along his bare, fur-covered chest and he let out a long, pleasured sigh. "'Ow many times 'ave you asked me that question, 2D?"
He took a moment to count on his fingers. "I dunno, six?"
"We'll get on the road when we're ready, ah? Now go stuff yer face o' something."
"But yew've been sayin' that fa' months," 2D replied meekly. "Yew got a date in mind?"
"When we're ready, 2D. I'll give you an approximation when I've had enough ass and Vodka." The black-mopped man chortled and played a low, hip-swishing riff. His women giggled appropriately in response.
A slight frown crossed 2D's face. "Is Russel ready yet?" he asked firmly.
"Why don't you go ask 'im yerself?" Murdoc replied stiffly.
Immediately across from the stage they were on was a smaller podium on which the man in question was perched. Big, burly Russel, normally quite spirited and jovial when in a good mood, but now slumped over on his drum kit, resting his head on the snare. The baseball cap that he normally wore backwards on his head covered his eyes to shield them from the strobe lights flitting about the room. He wasn't exempt from the party animal sickness or its residual effects either. Seeing the food, spit and alcohol stains on his clothes was hard in the low light, but they existed on Russel. Like battle scars obtained in a grisly fight to the death.
2D's face softened a bit when he shifted his gaze back to Murdoc. "Well, wot about Noodle? I 'aven't seen her in…" He counted on his fingers again, only this time instead of coming up with a number, a long, dreary sigh came out from his lips. "It seems like years."
"No one's seen hide nor hair of her," Murdoc admitted. He stopped strumming for a minute to go on, "but wherever she is, I hope she's all right. It'd be a shame if we lost her in this bloomin' place. I imagine she'll turn up soon, though, so don't get yer knickers in a bunch."
Of all the things 2D had heard Murdoc say recently, that was probably the only thing 2D agreed on, and possibly the most sentimental thing ever to leave Murdoc's mouth. Sadly, what Murdoc was saying was quite true. Noodle had only resided at Feel Good Inc. for what seemed like a few days before disappearing without a trace for what seemed like months. However, it seemed right, in a way, that she was absent from this place. At least the young teen wouldn't have to see firsthand the massive orgies that took place every other night, or people pumping themselves full of drugs and booze and breaking their heads on doors. 2D already thought it a burden to persuade Noodle not to take after him and his bad smoking habit. His heart sank into his stomach at the thought of how much her mind would have been poisoned if she were still around. A delicate flower like her didn't deserve to wilt just yet.
For a moment 2D stood in silence, still twiddling his fingers. He harkened back to the days he and Noodle spent horsing around with each other. Giving her piggyback rides, the two of them hopelessly trying to imitate each other's accents for the fun of it. Sometimes Russel would join in, scooping them both up for a good laugh, take them out and buy ice cream when not recording. 2D could even remember a select few days where Murdoc's sour demeanor and generally unpleasant attitude flew south and he and Noodle would participate in reenactments of terrible movies the band had watched together. Noodle would don her helmet and martial arts leotard while Murdoc stripped down to his briefs and boots and tossed that flowing, purple cape of his around. His maniacal laughter echoed raucously in 2D's head.
And when they were in a musical mood but not rehearsing, sometimes the four of them would hold improvised jam sessions and play old sensations to their hearts' content. All while on the road in that nasty old Winnebago Murdoc called his prized possession.
But then Feel Good Inc. happened.
It was when Gorillaz became entrapped in this establishment that all the sunshine they had in their bags escaped and disintegrated into nothing, thanks to the darkness this place brought into their lives. Feel Good Inc. had a way of bringing people's houses down. One endless party after another. It was a drug that one simply could not quit no matter how iron-hard their will was. When you lived in a paradise like this, who had time for things like going to work or paying bills? Or in Gorillaz' case, making new seriously sicknasty beasts? And travelling the world on tour to dish out those seriously sicknasty beats?
The days 2D spent cooped up in this tower blurred together so messily that it became impossible for him to remember just how much time had passed since he and his band mates set foot in this place. His once beautiful image of life was tarnished on account of the black sludge of depression being flung haphazardly at his canvas. And then Murdoc had to go and smear it all around and obscure the masterpiece underneath by settling down in the tower and never setting a date for departure.
Murdoc wasn't ready to leave yet. 2D seemed convinced that he was intent on staying. And Russel's thoughts on the matter were pretty much a mystery, although finding out wasn't going to be a difficult task. 2D already had an idea of what he was thinking anyway. Noodle was hopefully already long-gone or unfortunately lost somewhere in Feel Good Tower. In either case, they could probably still locate her (if Murdoc cared enough to do so). If she was in the tower, 2D knew that she would have suffered enough trauma to want to leave, too. Anything to have their poor excuse for a family back together again.
But arguing with Murdoc was like trying to argue with a brick wall. You could yell in that bastard's face all day long and he wouldn't so much as give you a sideways glance, let alone bat an eyelash at you. He was perfectly content with pumping himself full of liquor instead of listening to a sob story, especially if it didn't involve him.
At this point the charcoal-eyed Englishman pulled hard on his face again, feeling the saggy wrinkles slip out from underneath his fingertips and sputtering with his lips as though he were an old, rusty jalopy. 2D let his lengthy arms fall and dangle about before him and a sigh escaped his lips. While he was thinking of the next item on his list to run by Murdoc, one of his hands gently knocked against the end of Murdoc's guitar and caused the player's fingers to slip and play a few sour, discordant notes.
"Hey!" The sudden volume increase of Murdoc's voice made his two female companions, as well as 2D, jump in fright. A pair of calculating eyes like a hungry hawk's stared the singer down and was accompanied by a long, spiteful frown. "My foot's gunna make really fast friends with yer rear end if you don't piss off. I'm in the middle of something, eh?!"
"But Murdoc—!" 2D quavered.
"What?!" Murdoc thundered.
2D swallowed another lump of spit in his throat. His words sounded a lot more assertive in his head than when he spoke them for some reason. Raising a quivering declarative finger, 2D piped up once more to ask Murdoc yet another question. "C-c-can't we rehearse fa' once?"
Murdoc's frown deepened ever so slightly. "Do you see a recording booth round here?"
"N-no," 2D answered.
"Then get lost, dullard."
"Well, can't we just play somefink then? I'd give anyfink to jus' sing a song. 'Aven't sung in days and I erm…. Need to keep me vocal strengf up."
Murdoc continued strumming his beloved bass while his whores continued to fondle him . 2D's rambling voice was almost a distant, garbled echo in his ears. It was indeed true that any singer needed to exercise their singing muscle so as to keep it from rusting from disuse, but Murdoc knew that was not the first and foremost reason 2D gave him for wanting to sing. What was a moron like him to do when faced with the doldrums of boredom? Perhaps he was truly longing for it—and in truth, so was Murdoc, but he wouldn't dare say that out loud. It seemed so sad. But a nice bone was tingling in Murdoc's body for just a split second. Just enough to humour the man so afterwards he'd leave him alone to his own devices.
"If yer gunna sing, sing something with a little, mm, bounce in it, eh? Nunna that sappy stuff. An' no whining. I hate whiners," the bassist said at last.
At that moment, what could only be described as a rocket bursting into showers of blissful light erupted inside 2D. His ill-mannered, foul-smelling band mate had actually granted him a kindness! Granted, it was a small kindness, but to a floppy sad sack like him, it was the equivalent of finding buried treasure. Singing a song wouldn't help any of the Gorillaz get any closer to escaping this prison, but it would certainly do wonders for the spirit.
Contrary to the feelings exploding inside him, though, only a corner of 2D's mouth curled up into a smile to convey his gladness. His face was still too flaccid and his body still too drained to put any energy into spontaneous movement or expression. Feeling pleased with himself and rather accomplished, 2D no longer felt it necessary to hover around in Murdoc's vicinity. He gathered a bit of his energy to trot down the stairs of Murdoc's stage and begin a new game of hopscotch on the corpse-covered floor and find a path to the stage where Russel was perched.
"Russel. Russel. 'Ello, Russel! Anybody home?" A bothersome poking finger roused the dark-skinned man from his deep sleep and nearly resulted in its wielder being punted clear across the room. "Sorry! I-I keep fuhgettin' not to wake yew up from yer siestas. Yew almost took me head off!"
Russel's milky white eyes slowly creaked open. He stretched out his limbs as far as their seams would allow, then languidly flung his upper body over the tops of his drums and let his arms hang. "Hey, D, not so loud—I got a killer headache and it sounds like everything in here is ringin' like an alarm." It was silent in the auditorium thanks to the lack of blasting music, save for a few tired moans and the clinking of several beer cans laying scattered at Russel's feet. "Whatchoo wake me up fo', anyway?"
"I thought now would be a great time fa' yew to get ya sticks out?" 2D replied hesitantly.
Russel's eyes grew to the size of golf balls. "Word?"
2D nodded confidently. "S'not gettin' us anywhere but it's better 'an sittin' round here."
Russel responded with a nod of his own and an eager grin. His enthusiasm proved that 2D's theory about his longing for departure and music-making was true. Or at least proved that he was excited about having something to do other than snooze and binge. 2D was merely glad he wasn't entirely alone on the issue. "Lemme turn the amps up," the drummer replied.
With that, the Brit proceeded to head down the stairs of Russel's stage, but he was called back. "Yo, D!"
2D squinted curiously in his band mate's direction. "Wot?"
Russel leaned over the other side of his drumset and snatched something up from off the ground. Then it went sailing through the air until it landed in 2D's frantically flailing arms.
Examining it briefly, 2D realized that Russel had tossed him a megaphone, of all things. It was white in color, and plastered with stickers of things Gorillaz tended to favour. The number 23 written within a club shape, an Owl basketball logo, and a duck painted on the inside, to name a few. The wail it released when 2D switched it on caused him to jump nearly ten feet in the air. He stared at the instrument for a few moments before looking back at Russel for an explanation.
"Those suckers could use an alarm clock," said Russel, pointing to the crowd of collapse partygoers with one of his drumsticks. 2D's theory had been correct, after all.
Not to mention, there was a distinct lack of a microphone in the room. Wherever it was, it was probably broken and buried somewhere, and the search for it had probably been abandoned. The megaphone would have to do, so with it in hand, 2D hobbled over to the third and final stage where the big curtains hung, and where a lone chair resided. Whoever sat there had the pleasure of viewing the entire room in all its grimy, red-tinted glory. And 2D was about to become a candidate for the chair's new owner.
A myriad of thoughts swam furiously in the singer's mind as he rested his spindly arms on the arm rests, leaned his stiff body forward and let his head hang like game on a rope. The only thing scaring the big grin that so badly wanted to live on 2D's face away was the pure and simple fact that even after this short bout, Feel Good Inc. would still be his prison, still in control of his life. After all, Murdoc had only given him the green light for one song. A single, hopefully bouncy song. He would never be ready to leave this place like 2D and Russel were, and more likely than not, this jive was probably just something Murdoc was using for his own entertainment. Not to mention they still had no inkling of the whereabouts of their little girl, Noodle. History was a record stuck on repeat. Who knew when it would break and let loose the pack of caged animals tearing and claws through the bars for freedom?
It was with a heavy heart that 2D raised his head, opened his tied eyes, and let his troubled soul right out into the deadened, stagnant air.
"Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
There was the signal. Russel was already pounding away at his drums. Murdoc caught on quickly and his bass began to hum.
"Feel Good…"
It started out mild and meek.
"Feel Good..."
Just a bit louder, as 2D went on to speak.
"Feel Good…"
The words were mournful and morose.
"Feel Good…"
2D leaned forward in his chair.
"Feel Good…"
He looked round the room.
"Feel Good…"
His eyes darkened with despair.
"Feel Good…"
And 2D was on his feet, megaphone at the ready.
"Feel Good."
Stepping over a few bodies in the process, 2D sauntered down a path in the middle of the floor and raised his makeshift microphone, voice ringing clear and steady.
"City's breakin' down on a camel's back
"Well, they just have to go 'cause they don't know wack.
"Now all you fill the streets, it's appealing to see
"You won't get out the county 'cause you're bad and free.
"You got a new horizon, it's ephemeral style
"A melancholy town where we never smile.
"Now all I wanna hear is the message beep
"My dreams, they gotta kiss me 'cause I don't get sleep, no…"
2D arrived at the end of his path, right in front of the huge windows to the outside world. Fluffy, off-white clouds obscured the real world below the very tip-top of Feel Good Tower, and he so desperately wished to remember what it looked like again. All there was was endless sky, not even an airplane to keep the tower company. The blue-haired musician found himself pressing against the glass with his hands and fogging it up with his cold, hollow breath. Longingly he stared out the window till a most unusual visitor poked itself out from behind a wall of white cotton.
"Windmill, windmill for the land
"Turn forever, hand in hand.
"Take it all in on your stride
"It is sticking, falling down…"
A giant candy cane-colored windmill had pierced the cloud barrier using its propellers to slice down all the white in its way. How there could have been a windmill flying in the sky was beyond him, but the way 2D figured, if something that big and grounded could fly wherever it pleased, so could he and the trapped Gorillaz.
"Love forever, love is free
"Let's turn forever, you and me.
"Windmill, windmill for the land
"Is everybody in…?"
2D was about to raise his megaphone and sing-shout into it when all of a sudden the auditorium's black monitors flickered on with flashes of white light. The singer's head whipped around at the speed of sound till he was staring with his mouth agape at two dark-skinned figures looking imposingly down on all the partiers in the room, who were ants compared to these giants. 2D couldn't even get out a small yelp as the two men on the screens transfixed him with fear and confusion. But the words they rapped seemed to frighten him even more.
"Laughin' gas these hazmats! Fast cats!
"Linin' em up like ass cracks!
"Lay these ponies at the track
"It's my chocolate attack!
"Shit, I'm steppin' in the heart of dis here
"Care bear bumpin' in the heart of dis here
"Watch me as I gravitate, ha ha ha ha HAAA!
"We go'n ghost town this Motown
"With yo sound, you in the blink!
"Go'n bite the dust , can't fight wit us
"With yo sound, you kill the Inc.!
"So don't stop, get it, get it
"Until you're cheddar header
"Watch the way I navigate, ha ha ha ha HAAA!"
An obnoxious, throaty maniacal laugh from the rapping men echoed and bounced off every wall in the room. This, coupled with the fact that Murdoc had finally risen to his feet and was playing his guitar while swishing his hips in a manner that made his harem shriek with joy, only helped in shaking 2D to his very core.
"Feel Good…"
Fingers twiddled anxiously like the wind. How small 2D felt.
"Feel Good…"
If no light shined soon, he feared he was going to melt.
"Feel Good…"
He felt a fire inside him dying out.
"Feel Good…"
He turned back to the windows, trying not to pout.
Suddenly, an impossible sight snagged 2D's eye: a giant floating mass of land had come to keep the tower company. It was powered by the same red-and-white striped windmill he saw just moments earlier, which was situated at the back of the land. The island housed a field of green grass, bushy trees, colorful flowers and even a small pond. Pieces of its soil and dirt fell away into the sky as it flew. And it was approaching Feel Good Tower.
And who but the band's missing member should be perched at the end of the island far away from the windmill. Her legs dangled playfully over the edge of the land as she plucked away at her golden brown acoustic guitar. The mop of midnight-colored hair on her head was swaying in the breeze, obscuring what 2D knew were calm, peaceful jade eyes.
"Windmill, windmill for the land
"Turn forever, hand in hand.
"Take it all in on your stride
"It is sticking, falling down…"
2D's heart couldn't be happier to know that Noodle was okay. He almost wanted to push open the window and leap out to latch onto some sort part of her island carriage, but the dawn was finally upon him. The dawn that brought shadowy, seizure-inducing light into his pitiful existence. He let his fingers slip of the window after he saw the island float just feet away from Feel Good Tower, carrying Noodle away on it. As she passed, he could have sworn he saw her lips moving, singing almost the same words he was trying to force out without sobbing.
"Love forever, love is free
"Let's turn forever, you and me.
"Windmill, windmill for the land
"Is everybody in…?"
And 2D didn't need to have this question answered for him. When he saw Murdoc on the stage, letting notes rip with his axe and swaying his hips that had a mind of their own, the reality sunk in. And when none of the hungover partygoers bothered to rise up from their floor graves, even after 2D did his best to be their alarm clock by shout-singing into his trusty megaphone, it was set in stone. The mysterious rapping men on the monitors were what caused it to petrify.
"Don't stop, shit it, get it
"We are your captains in it
"Steady, watch me navigate, ha ha ha ha HAAA!
"Don't stop, shit it, get it
"We are your captains in it
"Steady, watch me navigate, ha ha ha ha HAAA!"
The blue-haired Brit sank back into the red-tinged darkness of the auditorium. A final game of hopscotch was initiated as he made his way back to his solemn post, the lonely chair, on the room's centre stage. Another round of roaring, guttural laughter sent chills up 2D's spine.
"Feel Good…"
The party dragged on. The club could handle Murdoc, but just barely.
"Feel Good…"
If the club knew anything, it'd have known that he'd just split up a family.
"Feel Good…"
And if it cared enough, it'd have known to call 2D back from the canopy.
But alas. Back to the party jungle for 2D it was. He was too far gone, with no hope of returning.
"Feel Good…"
A long sigh escaped 2D's lips.
Maybe, since he was hungry enough, he would feel tempted to try and steal some food from some poor sap's pockets.