Psychic City: This is going to turn out to be what happens as the band continues life on Plastic Beach, straight up from the beginning, all the way to the curious picture of the shooting pirate jets, with some twists and turns added into it. This first chapter will serve as a sort of prologue. But I've got some ideas for this that I am excited to continue with. Hopefully it gets some attention! ;)
Don't be afraid to send me a review of any kind. Constructive anything is always appreciated.
Chapter One:
Plastic Landfill
Staring over the shore of his putrid, plastic beach, Murdoc Niccals watched the beam of his massive white lighthouse swing playfully over the twinkling shores of washed up rubble. He sat, captain-like, upon the rugged cushions of his large Rivival Chair with his bare feet kicked up and placed at the study before him. His tongue lapped against his dry lips and he inhaled, sucking hard at his cigarette, which smoldered continually inside his mouth. He certainly was proud of himself. The gigantic mass of floating landfill that he had created, it had become nothing more than his own perfect getaway. As peaceful and as isolated as it was, Murdoc's Plastic Beach was his home away from home, his Alternative-Kong. He adored the solidarity and the strangeness; admired the sheer brilliance of its very creation. Like a God, he sat as the watcher; never moving except for the continuous shift of his smoking arm.
Then, caught up in his own personal genius, Murdoc glanced away from the window and the shoreline to consider his outstretched palms. Sure, they were worn, hard and calloused even, but the very hands that he had observed had, in fact, created the magnificent island-masterpiece on their very own. Murdoc remembered fondly of the moment that he had stumbled across the chunk of land. It had been floating in solidarity forever at the point of the ocean that no one had even bothered to look. He had been able to see past its rancid appearance and see the true art that had been hiding there behind it. And all it took was a simple can of neon pink paint. Thus, the island of garbage became perfect- beautiful, even. There it was, Plastic Beach.
At first it had just been him alone, residing on the thing as if his stay there had been merely an account of personal vacation. Sure, he had been on the run from the Pirate Jets that had been relentlessly stalking him, but that certainly had not stopped him from having a merry time. And as a bonus, all the hours he'd spent freely thinking had helped him progress business-wise, as well. Album three, his brain-child, would not only make him even more rich, but additionally even more famous. The long break he had taken away from the music industry had done quite a number on his sanity. He craved the limelight, the media attention, and the women; felt ill at the thought of dying without an even larger legend to his name. He needed a new goal, a new plan of world domination. The third album, that was key; Murdoc Niccals could even smell the indulging scent of it before him. Thus, his idea was undeniable. It had to be done; at that point, not even Murdoc had a choice of otherwise.
Right away, Murdoc set off to work. Though, he had always come across his fair share of setbacks. Once Noodle had disappeared, the band had split and he hadn't seen any of their miserable faces ever since. He recalled sitting alone in Kong, watching the shadows of the undead cast vividly against his window, and downing the rest of his remaining liquor in the process. He needed to get rid of Kong and he needed to do it fast. Thus, in his drunken delirium, he'd reached for his lighter and eyed from his view of the garage a contained barrel of gasoline. As he watched the studio building burn down before his very eyes, Murdoc sipped the rest of bottled rum he'd salvaged from the burning rubble. He stared glossy-eyed at his home, listened to the cries of zombies as they once again experienced the unusual tragedy of death. All the years he had spent within the confines of the recording studios, all the memories... it smoldered away from him before his very eyes. Kong Studios sunk downwards into the earth, turning into ash and soot. He couldn't help remembering the time years ago when he had first laid eyes on the haunted, run-down building. He had made it as glorious as it was, a proper residence for a proper band. He had taken his last swig of his liquor and, with an intoxicated sway, gave the dying studio a final and admirable salute. Kong Studios, it didn't even stand a chance.
But with Noodle's whereabouts a mystery to him, Murdoc had been left in attempts to pick up the shattered pieces that had once been Gorillaz. However, Murdoc had not only just been left without a guitar player. Russel Hobbs, his rather fantastic drummer, had not shown his face since he had split from Kong Studios all those years ago. He had left the place in an absolute fury, lugging a small suitcase and sporting a slightly shaggy beard that had made him appear both significantly deranged and outrageously mental. He'd been solemn for weeks, announcing that he could no longer take the absence of Noodle, or the sight of a miserable 2D. Then, after appearing as if he were about to completely loose it, he had stepped out of the door and vanished into the night. The large, prodigal drummer had not been seen by the bassist ever since.
2D, however, had been a considerably different situation altogether. However, Russel had been right about the boy; once Noodle had vanished, 2D had barely made himself visible around the house. He rarely ate and more commonly consumed his pain-killers rather than anything of actual substance. Overdosed during most of the day, he had rarely attempted any sort of communication, even towards Russel. The singer had slept most of the time, though Murdoc was certain he had seen him wandering past midnight, joint in hand, staring in a daze up at the black sky above him as if he were looking for something. 2D had left exactly one month after Russel had. Without Russel to protect him from Murdoc, whose quota of patience had reached its high point, 2D had become the sole target of Murdoc's constant mood swings. But he stayed behind, stating during the moments when he did speak, that he was waiting for Noodle. He did not want her to come home to an empty house. Yet, the blue-haired boy seemed unable to take the continual days of utter disappointment. He hadn't made an announcement of his departure like the drummer had, though one day Murdoc had found that his bedroom had been packed, emptied, and cleared out.
Thus, the Satanist stood alone. Dumbfounded and pissed off in his empty mansion, he had to think of a plan, and he had to think of one fast. But because Murdoc Niccals was not the type to give up easily. Sure, he'd been left alone and band-less, but that certainly was not going to stop him. So, he quickly put his plan of action into existence. He wandered the El Manana crash sight and found scraps of his young guitarist's hair to collect and reassemble. He had put together an exact replica of the girl, even considered her appearance and growth, and created the Android. And she was perfect. The robotic version of his original guitarist was just as skilled in music skills and, to make matters better, she was half the trouble of a real girl, anyways.
Murdoc, still seated at watch over his falsified island, allowed a broad smile to slip across his green visage. He remembered lugging the powered-down Android to the island, watching her with a grin as she assisted him in cleaning up the place. A drummer was not necessary for his new album- at least, not a real drummer. Just as easily as Noodle had been replaced, Russel Hobbs was only just next in line. However, it was only his moron of a singer that would be far too hard to supplement. Besides, the Gorillaz had come way to far to simply just replace the vocals at this point. So, to soothe the setback, Murdoc set out a spy to find the location of the brain-dead talent. After two months he had the singer located. Turns out, he was living in a flat in Beirut, alone, sad, and ever so vulnerable. This had brought a rather gleeful smile to Murdoc's face, thus reigniting his hope in himself, and he'd picked up the phone feeling giddy, even. With a newfound and overwhelming sense of ambition, he had listened the the line ring several times before hearing the voice of the dullard on the other end.
"...Hullo?" said the singer all time ago. Even from the mere sound of his voice, Murdoc could tell that something was missing about his previous personality. Murdoc stalled for a moment and 2D sniffed slightly before Murdoc heard the slight thud of what he had considered his back to have hit the wall.
Though it had been years, Murdoc could still remember the conversation he'd had with the solemn young man. That day he had been sitting at the edge of the pier, despite the storm that had been circling him overhead. The beach, he recalled, was a putrid mess of discarded plastic and non-recycled waste. "'S been a while..." Murdoc had said over the crack of thunder. The sky ahead had been threatening a downpour, though nothing had yet arrived.
The voice on the other end stalled. Murdoc could almost sense the boy's bewilderment as he searched his empty head. He heard the staggering shake that had laced his breath. Nonetheless, the singer had leaned closer to the phone and whispered, "M-M... Murdoc?"
"Aye, mate!" Murdoc had responded, falling back onto his back. He had been the only visitor at the pier; everyone else had noticed the storm and had made their swift exists. However, Murdoc had never been one to flee from any sort of storm. "'Ow've you been?" the bassist asked the singer, still listening to his uneasy breathing at the opposite end of the phone line. Far up ahead of him, the clouds churned angrily.
"... 'Ow did you g' my number?" 2D inquired, but Murdoc let the question pass unanswered. Certainly he wasn't about to reveal to him that he had had him stalked for several weeks in order to be able to call him up in the first place. He had wanted to charm and excite the boy, not scare him to death. Besides, despite the hate that the bassist still had for the singer, he had needed him for the album. His agreement was vital and Murdoc wouldn't take no for an answer.
Thus, he put on a falsely friendly attitude, smiling even as he stared up at the storm from the other line. "Not important, 2D, not important. Eh, listen... I've got a proposition for you tha' I think you are goin' t' love." There was a slight onset of hesitation from the singer on the other side of the phone, but Murdoc cut him off hastily. He inhaled and spoke with a fast-paced tone of voice, interrupting 2D without a second thought. "Wot d' you think abo' world domination? Three outstandin' masterpieces?" With his back against the boardwalk, Murdoc could tell that 2D was not exactly paying him much attention. He heard the slide of the boy as he slumped to the ground and could almost feel the uneasy anxiety that he knew had been creeping up on the singer mercilessly. However, he chose to ignore the boy's misery. Instead, he had then added gallantly, "'D, wot d' you think about dying a legend?"
2D's silence had told Murdoc everything that he had needed to know. For a moment he stopped, waiting to hear that he boy would respond. But when he did not say a word, Murdoc sat up, hunched over crookedly. 2D moaned and, on the floor of his flat, he had begun to run his free hand through his head of blue hair. He chewed achingly on his bottom lip. "Murdoc," he choked out, feeling the same swell of returning misery wash back to him. It had taken him years, and still he had not gotten over everything that had happened with the band. Still, he had not forgotten Noodle. "W-Wot are you t-talking about?"
"Album number three, mate!" Murdoc drawled, perking up with enthusiasm. "We could still be great! We could come back from the dead!" Murdoc flashed his teeth. "Wot d' ya say?"
There had been a meek little sob and then 2D said sadly, "... I can't."
"Wot." Murdoc's previous confidence had faltered. His smile had vanished. The first drop of rain finally hit him square in the middle of his forehead and dribbled down the front of his wonky-looking face. Curious, he glanced back up at the sky as the shake of thunder made him flicker. "Yah can't wot?"
"I can't go back, Murdoc," 2D moaned, sniffling. "I can't do it again. I... I-I h-haven't seen Russ in... in years and..." there was a distinct pause. 2D had felt as if something had physically stopped him from continuing on in his sentence. But he could not possibly finish. Even Murdoc could sense his sadness. He heard the boy choke and then sob, scratching his head of hair as a nervous habit. With his back still pressed up against the wall, 2D rubbed at his eyes.
Murdoc shifted uncomfortably. He did not want to ask aloud the obvious, but he had remembered doing it anyway. "And wot?"
Yet the bass player's persistence had only backfired. If 2D had been before trying to stifle his sobs, Murdoc's inquiry had pushed him over the edge. He inhaled massively and then Murdoc Niccals heard him crack. He listened to the clatter of the phone as it hit the ground, and heard the soft breaths of the damaged singer. Though he had not seen 2D in years, Murdoc wondered for a split second what sort of life his singer had been living over the time. He waited for a moment and let the boy cry as he rolled his eyes. He should have expected such a pathetic reaction from the empty-headed singer in the first place. He wondered why he would have even expected something different. 2D had always been rather easy to sway- mainly because he had not a clue as to what was really going on around him. Though, this time, however, 2D seemed to have understood one thing and one thing only. Noodle was gone, and that had been all he'd cared about.
Still, Murdoc crossed his arms across his chest, reaching into the pocket of his trousers to retrieve his cigarettes. He pulled out one half-yellow stick, struck it between his open lips, and lit the thing as he waited. But when 2D did not stop sobbing, his patience began to wear thin. He did not have time to baby the singer into manhood- besides, such a feat would be almost impossible, anyways. However still, he overlooked the man's obvious misery. Instead, he said impatiently, "wot do you say?"
"No," 2D had said without hesitation.
"Wot d' ya mean 'no'?"
"I mean 'no'," 2D sniffed, and Murdoc heard the boy as he wiped his nose. 2D choked out his words forcefully and a hint of bitterness was detectable behind his sorry tone of voice.
Murdoc had unwillingly become cross. The previous cool that he had managed to obtain had left him within the instant. "Listen 'ere, you stupid sodding pygmy-boy, no one says 'no' to fucking Murdoc Niccals!" He lifted himself off of the pier, stumbled up into a stance and screamed wildly into the receiver. The rain ahead had begun to plummet down on him, soaking him in his black turtleneck and his considerably old trousers. His shoes were becoming soaking wet, and his black mop-top haircut was sticking intensely to his face.
On the other end, 2D moaned, "d-don't call me anymore, o-okay, Muds." Even as miserable as he was, 2D had still had a hard time sounding assertive.
"You fucking prick!" Murdoc roared, holding the phone close to his face as he spat into the speakers. He heard the shuffle of the singer's feet and he called out hotly, "don't you dare hand up on me, yah fucking-"
But the phone went dead. He heard the beep of the disconnected call before he could even finish his own sentence. And then, alone on the end of the local pier in the pouring rain, Murdoc Niccals stood fuming. He tore himself away, cursing loudly at the top of his lungs, still pissed off at the storm and the singer and his two other band mates for leaving him in the first place. In a furious mess, he marched home, slammed the door to his own rugged flat and closed himself in the depths of his bedroom. For days he sat in solitude, contemplating his setback. But, as usual, an idea had managed to come to him with ease. Nonetheless, Murdoc Niccals usually managed to get whatever it was that he had wanted one way or another...
Still, nonetheless, capturing 2D had been unsurprisingly easy. Gassing the boy had been, quite frankly, a brilliant touch. The Boogieman he had found through communication with the constant demons that he had running through his condo, and the cloaked figure had proved to be a load of help to say the least. Thus, Murdoc had the shade stuff the unconscious 2D in a suitcase and send him on his way. Then, two weeks later, there it was. Sure, the suitcase had been a little banged up and the moans of the sleeping singer's nightmares had made the situation a little more sppoky, but Murdoc truly could not have been more happy. He'd had the Android Noodle drag the drugged out singer down to his special underwater bedroom and he himself had celebrated with a six-pack of beer.
When he finally heard 2D's screaming from the underwater room below him, a smile ignited the likes of Murdoc's ready face. He'd left the porthole window open, fully aware of the whale's presence at the other end of it. For laughs, he listened to 2D's hyperventilation for a good two hours before making himself present. Thus, he'd dressed himself in his nice white turtleneck and matching white trousers, placed his yacht hat upon his scruffy black head of hair, and strolled over to the lift. He unlocked the lock at 2D's bedroom casually and stepped through the door with a calm expression. However, when he found 2D curled up in the corner, he put on a mockingly false and perplexed expression. "Wot?" he asked, stooping down to 2D's huddled level, "ya don't like ya new room?"
The boy had looked even more drugged out than Murdoc had previously expected. A trail of dried saliva had stained his pale face and the look about his vacant eyes had made him appear hazy and unaware. However, 2D glanced back up, watching Murdoc approach him slowly. He blinked, almost unsure as to whether or not he had been dreaming, and sobbed so that his throat was dry and harsh on impact. Yet Murdoc neared the crying boy, extending his fingers out and pinching his sloppy, wet chin. "I put a lot o' thought inta' it, 2D. Tha's not very polite o' you..."
2D's eyes scanned the place. When his focus found Murdoc again, he sobbed even harder. However, his lolling head found his knees and he buried himself within them forcefully. His hands crawled up to his head, pulling at his hair before slackening limply and hugging his torso instead. Finally, he asked wetly, "where am i?"
To which Murdoc cheerfully responded, "the middle of nowhere, mate."
The azure haired man shook his head, still pressing his forehead to his knees. He said sloppily, "I... I w-wos in B-Beirut."
"You were in Beirut, mate." Murdoc clarified, glancing back towards the window porthole; for the moment, the watching whale had disappeared. He looked back over at 2D and made a quick grab towards his blue hair. When he'd pulled the singer's face back upwards, he couldn't help but chuckle. Stu Pot was still feeling the drugs that he had been given. As hazy and delirious that he was, he could hardly even manage to keep the drool from running out of his mouth. However, his aware mind had been notably racing. His black eyes darted back and forth around the room and he seemed to understand only that he was no longer at his Beirut flat anymore. "Alright, 2D," Murdoc directed, "up."
With a steady hand, he hoisted the havering 2D into the air and pulled him to his feet. The man's waif-like chest heaved and he looked as if he were about to pass out at any given moment. "Remember 'ow I said I want t' make a third album?" Murdoc asked the boy, tilting his head and slapping 2D's cheek to make him look back over at him. "Hm?" 2D's silence said everything, however. The singer's eyes widened slightly and he did another double-take, scanning the room with an entirely new outlook. His chest heaved up and down quickly. "Wot'd I tell ya, mate?" Murdoc added, cheekily.
2D's delirium had taken an abrupt turn for the worse. He broke down completely, though Murdoc had caught him instantly before he fell backwards and lost his balance. Through his tears, he reached out, attempting a swing at Murdoc, though missed by miles. Instead, Murdoc once again made a lean towards him, grabbing him by his hair and forcing him towards the wall. He slammed the skinny singer's body up against the bedroom wall and twisted his arms back around behind him. Murdoc's grimy hands made their way to 2D's hair and he yanked his head back, causing 2D to cry out hoarsely. "Now ya can't go and do thing like tha'!" Murdoc hissed before regaining himself. Just as quickly as he had snapped, he pulled the whimpering 2D away from the wall and reached behind himself towards the handy towel he had placed at the singer's new study for the possibility of such a situation.
The blue haired man swayed, catching Murdoc as he reached casually towards the towel and chloroform bottle. However, he was far too late to react. The green skinned bass player reached back around 2D, looping one hand behind his heavy head and positioning the towel his nose and mouth with harsh force. "Relax, 'D," Murdoc drawled, watching the singer's chest heave upwards. He forced the man's thin hands back down as he reached up to pry Murdoc back off of him. "I'll talk t' ya abo' all this later, hm?"
2D's knees locked and he had fallen forward against Murdoc's chest, still fighting to keep his eyes open in the process. "Besides," he said as he heard the robotic crunch of the Android Noodle behind him, "we've go' a whole album to record and there's some people I wan' ya t' meet, ya know?" And when 2D had finally gone completely limp, Murdoc's grip on him slackened completely. He let the man drop in a heap on the carpeted floor and had reached the toe of his boot over to lift up the side of his fallen face. "Tosser," he had hissed and, with that, exited the underwater room before locking it up and returning back to his previous work.
Still, despite the singer's initial resistance, Murdoc was able to get him to sing for the album. Sure, 2D had been absolutely furious when he had first laid eyes on the Android Noodle. But the robot could be very persuasive. Murdoc's creation had been an extreme help when trying to get 2D to sing his parts on the album, too. All she'd had to do was open her mouth and produce the handy gun that Murdoc had placed in her design. Thinking back, Murdoc can remember the horrified look of panic on 2D's face at the microphone in the recording room as Cyborg Noodle held her gun up to his head the entire time. Still, it had worked out nonetheless.
To say that he was proud of himself would have been an understatement. He, Murdoc Niccals, fucking adored himself for his brilliance.
And now, even more years later, he'd had all that he'd needed. The album had been released, a single had gone out. His masterpiece had been critically acclaimed all around the world and he'd obtained some of the universe's best talent to collaborate with him on his magnificent track list. He had done absolutely everything that he had set out to accomplish. Now all he'd had to do was sit out and wait. As he leaned his head back and took a swig of his liquor, Murdoc Niccals mused silently to himself, "ah, this is the life."
Psychic City: Please, let me know what you think!
