Trapped in the Dark
CHAPTER ONE
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Gorillaz! They belong to Mr. Hewlett, and a true genius that one is. I hope you guys enjoy!
Murdoc sat intently, studying the deep, black whirlpools that were Stu's 'eyes'. Whilst his intense stare pounded 2-D's brain, the frail man stared absently back. He saw that the older man was struggling to keep his awkward colored eyes open. The younger male gazed, his eye twitching half shut every now and then, but never closing completely.
Murdoc Niccals had thrown on a dim gray-green sweater, straight-legged black pants and his traditional inverted golden cross around his neck. He sat on the dirty couch with his legs spread apart, his upper body leaned forwards, and his arms rested on his slim thighs, clamped together loosely at his hands. 2-D (or Stuart) was plunked on the floor a couple feet in front of him. He had selectively dressed himself in a bright red tee with the words "Fire Coming out of the Monkey's Head" on the front in black capital letters and some tight blue jeans.
On either side of the two men were Noodle and Russel, who were watching with utmost curiosity. However, Noodle had a pint of concern lining her face. She was wearing a plain white tee, some black capris and a cute pair of purple and white striped stockings. On each of her wrists were green and orange wristbands she had picked out absent-mindedly. Russel was dressed in a plain coffee-colored hoodie and some baggy dark jeans.
The air was thick with tension. Murdoc and 2-D stared eachother down, unblinking. Just when the tension was so heavy the air could've imploded on itself, tears formed around the younger's eyes and he blinked.
"Ah, not again!" he blurted out in a frustrated tone, as what seemed to be a fist-shaped stone pounded into his left shoulder. 2-D winced in pain and let out a pathetic, small whimper.
The Satanist let out a great, hoarse cackle. "Gotcha again, you git!" He sat up slightly, kicking 2-D hard in the shin.
"Ouch!" he whined, grabbing his shin with his free hand. "Yer such a jerk."
"Hah!" the elder snarled, kicking his frail frame again, harder this time. "You ain't in any bloody position to be callin' me names, ya bugger!"
Noodle shrieked out a mess of foreign insults towards Murdoc before letting out a deep, hopeless sigh. "You have to stop being so mean to Stu-chan! All you ever do is beat him up, and what good does it do for anyone?"
"Hey, I gots ta let this shit out one way or another, luv. You rather I beat up ... I dunno, kittens or something?" he shot back coldly, grinning.
The teen tightened her fists at her sides. "Ugh, you're an insufferable, block-headed bully, you know that?"
"Ah, it's who I am, doll. Can't help it!" he let out another beastly laugh.
With that, the guitarist threw herself at the older man, beating at his chest with harmful (and actually painful) blows, each making Murdoc cringe in pain, but only to smile and laugh afterwards. He let her hit him... Even though it hurt, it was mildly entertaining to see her freak out and screech in her complex, native tongue.
While Murdoc and Noodle continued to bicker, 2-D pulled up his left sleeve, examining the sizeable bruise that had formed from Murdoc's multiple blows. "Ugh," he let out, muttering to himself in a small voice. He raised himself off the tough carpet and walked over to the kitchen, longing to escape from the noise. He placed one hand at the edge of the sink, and the other rubbed his forehead.
The noise penetrated his head like oversized hypodermic needles, causing excruciating pain in pulsing waves. The young man let out an agonizing groan and searched the cupboards for his medication. His shaky hand wrapped around a small white cylinder that he yanked out with urgency and unscrewed the cap. He shook out one, two, three tiny gray pills and swallowed them dry. The aching in his skull softened to a level he could withstand. With a quick, firm push the cap was tightened on, and the bottle placed back in the cupboard, which he closed. 2-D decided then that he should be heading up to his room. He knew he would be able to find peace there.
Murdoc had his big, sweaty hands wrapped tightly around Noodle's tiny wrists. She tried desperately to swing at him with her thin, powerful legs but was suspended in mid-air at arms length from the older man.
He let out a malicious chortle. "Had 'nuff yet, luv?"
"Let me down, Murdoc-"-she called him something awful in Japanese-"-this isn't funny anymore!"
From the corner of his pink eye, the Satanist saw Russel crack his knuckles and rub his massive fist in his other hand, whilst raising a warning eyebrow. Murdoc set Noodle down lightly on her feet and let go of her arms. With a high-pitched 'Ughh!', she punted him in the krotch with her muscular foot, buckling his knees and making him tumble to the carpet. The slim 15-year old strut away furiously.
"Shit, man," Russel chuckled, "I'd say ya has it rough or somethin' but ya really deserve it, dude."
The bigger man lumbered off down the hallway with this. He was most likely going to practice his drumming. Murdoc snickered quietly to himself, bearing his sharp stained teeth.
Kid's got a lot of punch in her, he thought. Lifting himself off the floor, Murdoc staggered around for a moment and exited into the opposite hallway, heading for the elevator.
2-D lay immobile on his springed matress, breathing slowly and quietly. He had nothing to really think about that could interest him. His mind was blank. The lanky boy took in a deep breath, and let out a mournful sigh.
"Summer don't know me no more...Eager man, that's all..." he sang, in a quiet voice.
Summer don't know me
He just let love in my sea
'Cause I do, know love
From you that, just dieing.
Summer days
Lost my mind
Lord, I'm fine.
Maybe in time
You'll want...to be mine."
As he continued to sing El Manana alone in his room, thoughts stirred about in his head. Why was he singing such a mournful tune, it was only a staring contest. Actually one of multiple staring contests that he had lost only today. But that was nothing to get upset about, was it? No. Nope. Not at all.
Stuart sat up in his bed, reaching for the universal remote to his giant televisions. There were screens all over the wall opposite to him, along with countless movie posters. One screen turned on, and his favourite movie began to play, Napoleon Dynamite. After maybe half an hour of watching Napoleon and Padro run about doing silly things, the vocalist gently drifted off to sleep...
A hand arose from the floor of the car lot Murdoc's winnebago was parked in. It grasped the ground in its' clutches and pulled the floor apart, creating an opening to climb through. From the newly formed hole in the cement arose a half-dead corpse, rotting, groaning and gurgling. Its clothes were torn in multiple places along with his skin, gray and ripped. A zombie, no doubt. It limped over to the dimly lit motor home, and clawed relentlessly at the walls.
Inside, Murdoc was sat in his bed, wide awake and waiting. In his hands he held a semi-automatic shotgun.
" 'Bout time them nutters got here..." he snarled, stepping up.
Murdoc kicked the door open violently. The male fired his weapon at the hideous creature and blew his head clean off with a deafening bang. Blood and brains splattered about the ground, winnebago and Murdoc's 'clean' white muscle shirt. He spat at the ground, reloaded his gun, took a couple steps forward and examined the vicinity.
"Any other shitheads wanna play with good ol' Uncle Murdoc?" he threatened in a loud voice, bearing his sharp teeth.
When he recieved no reply, the man stepped backwards, closer to the open door of his winnebago, chuckling to himself. Just when he figured to be safe, he was grabbed from behind by two cold, clammy hands that yanked him backwards, causing him to crash into the fold-out stairs of his motor home.
"Fucking Satan!" he bellowed, aiming at the corpse that towered over him. It moaned in a low, creepy voice and started to reach down dowards him, fangs showing and green saliva dripping from its open mouth. The trigger was pulled and the creature was blown apart, organs, muscles and blood splashing on every inch of the winnebago's interior.
"Fuck." Murdoc sneered, wiping his brow.
Still laying on the floor, he reloaded hastily and pointed his shotgun around the interior. He searched for other undead ones but found none. His winnebago now smelled even worse than it had before (if that's even possible), from the putrid stench of the corpse. He sat up abruptly, scoping the parking lot again.
Dammit, how the hell these things get in here, I'll never know, he thought. Murdoc got to his feet and grabbed a bag of ammo to take along. He hastily slammed the door of his motor home and walked towards the lift. On the brief walk across the lot, he shot down a couple more monsters, blowing them apart.
Murdoc threw an angry fist at the door to 2-D's room. "Open up, you fucking dullard, open the bloody hell up!"
A tired, shirtless 2-D opened the door, rubbing his eyes. He was wearing the same pair of tight blue pants with the belt loose and a boring pair of dirty white socks. The older man barged in the room with haste and locked the door behind him.
"Ah," Stu whined, "why've you gotta be so loud, Muds? I was sleepfink.."
"Zombies! The bastards are all over the bloody place, pot-head!" Murdoc growled, smacking him bluntly across the face.
The younger man let out a small cry at the newly found pain on the right side of his face. He placed a shaky hand on it, rubbing it slightly. He then noticed his pants were undone, buckled everything up, and slipped on a tee that he found on the floor. It was a deep green and said 'Tazar Yoot' on the front in spidery white letters.
"Well, why's... why'sit such a big deal then?" 2-D yawned, "We always've had zombies sneakin' in here..."
" 'Cuz this time, you empty-headed git, there are MULTIPLE RE-ANIMATED CORPSES instead of ONE!"
"Ow, ow, okay Muds, okay." 2-D shrank back at the older male's shouts. He couldn't stand loud noises, they gave him migranes. Stuart sat down on his matress, and fiddled with his headphone cord. Murdoc paced across the room. He gripped his semi-automatic tightly.
The darker male took a hand to his inverted cross and rubbed it with his forefinger. He examined the gold with admiration. Looking at it in deep thought, a smirk ran across his face.
"Stuart Tusspot."
The lanky boy looked up from his plastic cord, wide-eyed at the mention of his real name. "Um...?"
"Ya look shaken, Dent-face." Murdoc pointed out, "...Yer not scared or nuthin, are you?"
"N-Now why're you askin' me summfink like that, Muds?" he stuttered in reply.
With a harsh cackle, he said "Naw, naw, o' course it's not 'cuz yer always actin' like a bloody tween-ager 'bout to have a nervous breakdown!"
"Hey, I sure as hell know I ain't th' brave one out of us, but you dont haveta rub it in my face!"
Murdoc was about to reply, when a sharp banging noise was heard at the door. The two men froze, staring towards the source of the noise.
"Don't tell me there's more of the little buggers already..." the older male snarled.
Just when Murdoc had finished growling, another noise cut into their ears like knives. A high-pitched, scraping sound was coming from the ceiling. It was as if something was trying to get in. 2-D whimpered at the scratching and the banging, wondering what they would do about it. Murdoc swore and pointed his weapon above them, towards the clawing.
Before he could pull the trigger, more sounds, banging and scratching, came from either side. They could be heard through the walls parallel to the men.
"Shit, they've got us surrounded."