Transportation.
Murdoc stepped off the floatplane and inhaled sharply, the lack of clean oxygen here clogged his lungs. Murdoc spluttered and sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve and looked around, the jetty on which he was standing lead all the way up to the entrance of his new home, Plastic Beach. Murdoc took a moment to properly admire his work; it took ages to paint the whole thing pink. The sudden salty sea wind suddenly stole the limited breath Murdoc had; he hurried back inside the plane to collect his baggage. A couple of hand luggage bags and a large suitcase holding the bands singer, 2D, who occasionally turned in his deep slumber inside the case. Murdoc had been significantly kind for who he was and had taped a bottle of pills to 2D's hand which he could hear rattle now and again; he had also unzipped the case a few centimeters. Streaking his raven black greasy fringe out of his eyes, he extended the handle on the case. Murdoc slung his other bags over his shoulder giving him both hands to struggle hauling the suitcase down the steps of the plane and onto the jetty. After a good minute of heaving 2D's limp body inside a case down the short flight of steps, Murdoc began heading towards the towering monstrous building, the soon to be home of himself and 2D.
The jetty's woodwork was rotting and covered in seaweed and other matters of sea gunk. Murdoc tip toed and hopped cautiously grunting and huffing after each step, the suitcase tethered left and right as Murdoc avoided the rotting wood. Murdoc became increasingly irritated with the repetitive clomping of the suitcase wheels over each plank of wood. Attempting to ignore it, Murdoc began whistling a song idea that had been slithering around inside his subconscious mind for a while ever since Murdoc started looking for the new HQ out at sea. Murdoc began closing his eyes from the chemical fumes surrounding the island which intoxicated his brain and left him in a near hypnotic state, his tongue lolled from his open mouth, his back hunched forward and his movements slowed. Murdoc slowly dragged his beloved Cuban heeled boots, upturning many of the winkles who had settled on the wood. Murdoc could feel himself become drowsy, he ran a bony green hand through his greased hair; one of his chipped, broken nails grazed his scalp leaving a small trickle of blood which ran down to his eyebrow.
Without warning, Murdoc's stomach lurched and his feet were airborne he faded into darkness, his feet touching the clouds.