Reflection

Summary: One Shot. "He drank his nights away as his plastic paradise fell apart around him, the familiar sting of hard liquor numbing his soul a little more with every glass."

Time Frame: This takes place right at the fall of Plastic Beach. So I guess right before the proposed video for Rhinestone Eyes.

Note: This is just another little one-off thing to get my feet wet with the fandom. I'm just trying to get into the character's heads a bit before I try to accomplish something major. So this is Murdoc. Let me know how I did.

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of the band Gorillaz nor any characters formed within. They belong to Jamie Hewlett and Damon Albarn, respectively. I also do not own the rights to The Piña Colada Song or Iron Maiden. Nor do I own the rights to John Donne's famous poem For Whom The Bell Tolls, which is not only quoted but also used as plot theme.

Reflection

The bar was stuffy and coated in a thick layer of smoke. Being so far from the mainland, they never saw the point in enforcing the popular smoking ban. Combined with the dim lights and broken juke box, it gave the pub the feeling of a place stuck in time – neither here nor there, just floating along like dust at the bottom of a dirty whiskey tumbler. The few customers inside were regulars; sailors and fishermen spending their hard earned dollars on a single shot of pride each night. They came shuffling in with the tide, clothes torn and grease in their hair, all hoping to find a reason to get up the next morning and do it all again. All except one.

Perched at the end of the bar, hunched over a half empty rum-and-coke, sat Murdoc Niccals. He had been sitting there for what felt like days, but in fact was only a few hours, red eye glinting in the flickering light. Clearing his throat, he knocked back the rest of his drink and lit up a cigarette before flagging down the barkeep for another.

"How much's that make it?" the man nodded as he wiped down the table.

Murdoc grumbled a few choice words under his breath before clearing his throat for a second time. "What's'it matter?"

"Doesn't much, I s'pose, as long as you can get your ass home." Like magic another rum-and-coke was placed on the bar, and before it could collect a single drop of condensation it was gone.

"That's what auto-pilot's for, mate." He smirked lifelessly. Rather than question the newcomer's logic, the bartender simply poured yet another drink and walked off to help a different customer.

It had been like this for ages now. After weeks toiling around that island of garbage, Murdoc found himself itching to lay foot on dry land. He drank his nights away as his plastic paradise fell apart around him, the familiar sting of hard liquor numbing his soul a little more with every glass.

There was little left to distract himself on the island. The Cyborg's constant malfunctioning was beginning to wear on his nerves and, to be quite frank, he couldn't be bothered with all the repairs. Apart from the the relentless pirate attacks, there really wasn't much use for her these days. Both their album and tour had been completed, and Murdoc's prisoner of a singer rarely needed to be watched any more.

2D…the dullard was nearly gone. The last few years had really taken a toll on the blue-haired idiot. After Murdoc had called off the whale, the singer just seemed to give up. It had been weeks now since he had spoken a single word. A small pang of guilt ran through Murdoc's stomach as he thought back on all the things he had put 2D through, but he quickly extinguished that with a fresh shot.

If you asked him to pinpoint the exact moment things started to go downhill, the bassist reckoned he wouldn't have an answer. As far as he was concerned, things had been pretty fucked for a long time. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but feel that, somehow, this was all Noodle's fault.

The juke box suddenly scratched as somebody put on The Piña Colada Song and the pub let out a collective groan. Murdoc grunted and stood from his chair, the room spinning slightly around him. With several uneven steps, he stumbled up to the evil contraption and began profusely banging on all of the buttons. The crowd stared but nobody stopped him. After too many attempts to count, the music stopped and a round of cheers rang about the room.

"About bloody time," he grumbled. He dug around in his dirty pockets for a second before pulling out two silver coins and tossing them at an older man sitting nearby. "Play something good. Maiden, perhaps."

The bassist didn't have to stand there to know that the man had done what he was told. Everyone did. There had always been an air of dominance surrounding Murdoc Niccals, even as a small child. He had a way of getting what he wanted.

The dusty speakers roared to life as the opening riff of The Trooper hummed over the bass. With a satisfied smirk, Murdoc returned to his seat at the bar and ordered another drink.

Tonight's round went out to their fallen guitarist.

Two nights ago he had received a broken transmission from untraceable coordinates. It had been garbled at best, but Murdoc knew it was from Noodle. After years of vacationing in the Maldives, the little brat was alive.

Murdoc would be lying if he said a small part of him wasn't relieved. He knew that the Black Clouds were fast on her trail – willing to stop at nothing to get to the puppeteer behind this whole mess. Sure, it was unfair; the young guitarist had no part of what had taken place. But none of that concerned Murdoc. As long as they were off his ass for a bit, he was happy.

"'Ey, barkeep! What time is'sit?"

"Half past one, boss."

Bloody ridiculous. Last call would be shouted any minute and Murdoc would be forced to find another watering hole to quench his undying thirst.

Cursing under his breath, he knocked back the last of his drink and stood to leave. The room tilted to the right as he made his way to the left, a fiery belch rumbling from his throat. The bartender yelled something after him, but with a dismissive wave Murdoc simply replied, "Put it on my tab."

The salty scent of the ocean sobered him as he made his way outside. The air was sticky and cold against his damp skin, and Murdoc instinctively pulled the collar of his turtleneck up around his ears. Between his dark fringe and the black of his sweater, only his eyes were visible in the dim evening light.

Scuffed Cuban heels clacked along the stone road as be doubled his pace toward the pier. This city was nameless to him, just another in a long line of passing sanctuaries. Luckily, everyone here seemed to speak English, but it was heavily laden with an almost German accent.

There was a small jetty on the north end of the pier where he had docked Stylo, blanketed in fog and safely out of sight. When he had commissioned Dave to build him an aquatic car, his expectations weren't very high. The mechanic had surprised him, though, when he unveiled Stylo. It truly was a masterpiece. To most it would seem rather conspicuous, but Murdoc always enjoyed the attention.

As he finally reached the water, Murdoc pulled a wooden pipe seemingly out of nowhere and smoothly lit the chamber. Maybe Noodle really was out there somewhere, trying to make her way back to the family. It was no secret that the girl could hold her own.

Things were never quite the same after her departure from the band.

Her absence seemed to affect Russell and 2D far more than expected. The drummer immediately took off for the states, his contact with the band waning until the letters stopped all together. Murdoc heard rumors that he was collaborating with some big time Hip-Hop artists somewhere in New York, but nothing ever came of it.

All that left was the dullard. However, it didn't take long for him to vacate Kong as well. 2D had landed in Beirut, a fact that still confused Murdoc to this day. From what he could tell, the singer spent his days merely wandering the city. Without Noodle around he seemed to lose his sense of direction.

Thankfully, good old Uncle Mudz set him back on the right path.

Murdoc mindlessly kicked a bucket of rotting minnows over the edge of the pier. There was a loud 'plop' as it landed, a school of hungry fish skittering along the surface to catch a bite. He chuckled as the fish attacked one another, worried only for their own personal survival. If there was one thing Murdoc had learned in all the years, it was that the world was a filthy, horrid place. It was dog-eat-dog, every many for himself. Nobody was going to pick you up when you fell and he sure as hell wasn't about to be the first.

He had lived by a selfish book of rules and it had brought him far in life. The years were catching up to him, though. Nearly fifty and all he had to show for himself was a literal island of garbage and a few catchy tunes. He paraded around the globe like some sort of eccentric millionaire, but he was in fact going broke. Islands, robots and submarines weren't cheap, after all.

Murdoc huffed loudly, his breath whisking off to mingle with the fog. It had been Russell's job to handle the finances. Without that lumbering oaf around, the bassist was far more inclined to blow through his money.

"Like I need that fat ass," Murdoc grumbled to the night. His shoulders clenched as his infamous rage bubbled forward. "I don't need any of those idiots!"

Itching to break something, the bassist reached for the closest object – a weathered oar – and promptly snapped it over his knee with a satisfying crack. Spotting a lone seagull perched on one of the docks, Murdoc then heaved forward and threw the shattered pieces at the bird. The bird squawked loudly and took flight, causing Murdoc to burst into a fit of laughter. The laughs turned to cackling, which quickly changed to a bout of hacking coughs. Bloody smoker's lungs.

Clearing his throat, he quickly composed himself and glanced over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't gathered a crowd. The night was still, the only sound was a bell clanging ominously in the distance.

"No man is an island," he quoted softly under his breath. Perhaps the bells truly were tolling for him this time. His payment was well over-due, it was only a matter of time before the Devil Himself caught up with Murdoc and dragged him down to Hell where he belonged.

Murdoc had resigned himself to that fact years ago. When he signed his soul away, he was well aware of the consequences. He was not some naïve little boy that was in over his head. And as the riches rolled in, he never once regretted a thing. Everything he had ever wanted was suddenly at his feet. But all of that was stolen from him the moment Noodle was pulled down to Hell. Everybody knew those demons were really after Murdoc, but the young guitarist was such an easy target.

He hadn't lied when he told the press that he had gone in search of her. It took him an eternity and nearly killed him, but there was never any sign of her. Amazingly, young Noodle had managed to escape on her own – a feat that would've surprised Baphomet himself. Less fortunately, she never returned to her family. Murdoc could only imagine the sort of resentment she held against him. He had robbed her of her youth and cast her aside like rubbish.

Between his dealings with the Devil and the Black Clouds, Murdoc Niccals' days were surely numbered.

The rustling of fabric drew his attention away from himself, and Murdoc turned slightly toward the figure that was suddenly beside him. Its silver mask seemed to smile down on him as its pure white cloak rustled in the wind.

"Here to tell me to look on the bright side of life, eh?" Murdoc teased bitterly. The Evangelist just stared, a comforting hand reaching out to rest on the the bassist's back. Its gaze was then drawn upward and away. Peering behind him, Murdoc could see The Boogieman perched on a nearby roof.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and turned back to the water. "I s'pose it's about time, then."

The Evangelist nodded solemnly and pointed toward Stylo. The ocean seemed to call out to him, a deadly siren song that promised him an easy escape. Dawn would be approaching in a few short hours and with the light came the threat of pirates. It would be easy to simply sink his vessel now and finally sever his mortal coil. Take the pleasure away from all those bastards that wanted his head.

A prideful truth rang out in his mind: Never Surrender. He had come this far, and he wasn't about to throw in the towel so easily.

Stylo rumbled to life as he pressed the 'START' button on his Key-Fob, a single beacon of light above the dash shattering the suffocating dark. Behind him, The Boogieman effortlessly leapt from one rooftop to another.

Murdoc turned to The Evangelist one last time, an almost manic look in his eyes. They shared an unspoken conversation, the bassist silently spilling his soul and the creature merely giving an appreciative smile. There was no need for words, it already understood everything that could possibly be said. A comforting feeling of support washed over Murdoc as The Evangelist once more put its hand on his back. The road ahead of him would be dangerous, but there was no pride in giving up.

Murdoc's trembling heart settled in his throat as he finally broke away. He took the first apprehensive steps toward the jetty, his legs threatening to collapse beneath the weight of his troubles. Stylo was already programmed with the Point Nemo's coordinates, so there was little to do besides drive. He turned at the last minute and took one more look at the city he was leaving. Murdoc no longer fit in this world. He belonged out here with the shadows.

The hatch closed and he was off. It would take six hours to return to Plastic Beach and Murdoc desperately needed some sleep. Thank Satan the ship could pilot itself. He leaned back heavily in the captain's seat as his drunken eyelids slid closed, images of fire and brimstone swirling around his intoxicated brain. By the time he returned home, the night would be forgotten and Murdoc would return to a fresh bottle of rum. He would drink his fortunes away to try and hide from the demons outside, while the only one he really had to fear was Murdoc himself.

End Note: Phew. That was…different. While 2D is my favorite character, I find it easier to write Murdoc for some reason. I love them both dearly, but there's a dark part of me that can sort of relate the bassist right now. Anywho, I hope you think he was in character. From what I've heard in interviews and on the Pirate Radio sessions, it honestly feels like the man is on the verge of cracking. So this was just a little glimpse into a mad man's mind, I guess.

Also, I read somewhere that The Boogieman is a physical manifestation of Murdoc's evil side and The Evangelist is his lighter side. I'm not sure if this is what Jamie himself thought up, or if it's fan-cannon, but I really love the idea so I'm running with it. I think more fics need to explore this idea!

I went back and re-read 'Detroit' and realized that I posted that WAY too soon. It's littered with typos. Sorry about that, I don't have Microsoft Word and I guess I got too excited to proof read it. I promise it won't happen again xD

Well, let me know how I did!