Author's Note: This is meant to be a somewhat happier side of Murdoc, and to be honest, it isn't all that happy at all. But, if I do say so myself, it's a lot happier than what it could have been. I tried to write as best as I could in Murdoc's point of view but he's such a complicated mess that I bet it sounds nothing like him. Oh well, can't blame me for trying eh? No, no you can't. Well, hopefully you enjoy it and don't hate it too much, that would hurt me a little bit inside.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gorillaz. Damon Albarn and Jamie Hewlett do. I don't even own the personality of the character. -Sniffle-

That's All...

Alright, so I guess you want to know all about me, all about my sick twisted and demented life that had left me spiralling and spinning down towards a gaping hole of nothingness waiting to swallow me up like the greedy bastard it was. But I won't tell you that, that's the last thing you want to hear from me. You see, dutiful reader, that part of me is so dark and so utterly disturbing that recapping it would probably kill us both. So, instead of dying for my horrible past and currently horrible present, shall we look at the good things that have happened? There aren't many, but they are there and I can tell them to you.

Let me just say that this won't be easy for you or me, it won't be easy for anyone. Because, laced among those short happy moments of my life, there are still the horrible tendrils of black brilliance that I cling to because that part makes more sense to me. Black brilliance, what a combination of words hmm? I think, that's what I call my happy moments. Moments of completely astonishing black brilliance that clamp down on me and hold me stuck and whimpering and begging. Begging for what? I don't know, I just beg because it makes me beg.

The booze, the drugs, the women, the band; they're all objects of black brilliance for me. They don't make me happy but they don't drop me into that greedy black abyss. Those things hold me up and give me the support that'll keep me from completely demolishing myself, who I am. Those things are so blinding in their separate moments that I'm shocked that I'm not utterly blind and feeling around for them because I want them there to hold me up and keep me dry. Keep me dry of the darkness that sits below, waiting for the day when I completely give up and give into its tantalizing calls and sweet nothings and promises of escaping.

Escaping, such a sweet word huh? It means so much yet no one truly understands what it means and why it's there. Not even I, King of the God-be-Damned world of fucked up life, understands what it means. He probably doesn't either, but he's like me but very different. We're mirrors of each other but those mirrors are reflecting something totally off the mark. I'd chosen drugs and alcohol and women to keep me holding on, he'd just chosen drugs and maybe at times alcohol.

Knowing we were so similar made me feel funny inside, because honestly, I'd never met anyone nearly as fucked up as I am. Then this guy ends up in my life and I completely become lost in myself and what the world exactly is. I thought it was just a toy at my disposal, like a giant bouncy ball to a little baby. He thought it was full of things that he could use to keep going.

Then I'd gone ahead and fucked up his entire life, yet somehow I'd made it better. I don't know how, I still don't know why the Dullard looks at me with that admiration in his eyes. I don't know why anyone ever would, but I guess Stuart Pot is different. Yea, 2D is definitely different. Not only because of how he looks, or how he acts but because of who he is. He's one of those people you just want to be around because they're so damn interesting and you just can't get enough of who they are. I couldn't get enough of him, which was why I'd chosen to run through the shop he had worked at.

I'd never meant to go and crash my Jeep into his face. I had just wanted to steal the shit and go, take everything I could and never go back. But it had, it had to be that shop because he was there and he would be the last person I saw before I became famous. I was a Satanic Sadistic Bassist who wanted to see one blue haired idiot before I made it big, and it terrified me a huge deal.

Why? Well, I'm like a God, I treat everyone the same. I don't pick favourites, which is why I hate every single human being and myself equally. I might be a conceited substance abusing fucker, but in all honesty, most people who claim they love themselves (usually don't) at all. Yet Stuart, that dimwitted blank excuse for a person had spiked my interest.

So, I ram raided the shop he worked at, in the same time hitting him in the face. I was completely unaware and panicked that I'd hurt him. In the back of my mind I'd known I'd hurt him, but I was going to deny that part until I saw physical proof of it myself. I jumped out of my Jeep and ran to where he lay, seemingly not breathing and completely still. There had been blood everywhere and I was terrified that I'd actually killed the moron I'd met just weeks earlier. I didn't bother looking for a pulse; I'd just stuffed my hand up his shirt so I could feel his physical heart beating, if it was. And it was, it was there, fluttering and struggling to keep beating.

Then, in the astonishment of the entire moment, some fucking twisted part of me started laughing. I started laughing because the whole situation was just hilarious to me for some reason. Not only because I'd just run my Jeep through a window, but because on the day I'd decided to do it, I'd hurt the one person who had gained some sort of interest from me. I'd also laughed because in my drunk state, because I'd gotten drunk before I'd bothered to rob the shop; it was funny how everything had played out.

I guess I wasn't surprised when I was told I'd have to take care of the dimwit. But, because I so badly wanted to be like a God, I became angry with him. I blamed him for it; blamed him for being in the shop, blamed him for getting hit, blamed him for being in the Jeep's way, blamed him for going into his stupid comatose state. I might as well have blamed him for my entire life the way I was going at it. But, that's when I'd first discovered that black brilliance I was talking about. Taking care of the vegetable had given me something.

I often ranted things to him; I often spilled my deepest secrets to the comatose Stuart because I couldn't very well tell my most private thoughts to someone awake. They'd just go and blab about it to every bloke they knew and soon everyone would know my business. So, I thought, what the hell.

After those moments though, I hated him. I hated that he was the one person I had to rant to, I hated that it had to be him. In those moments of hate, I would abuse him physically and say very mean things to him because he couldn't do anything to defend himself. He was the perfect stress reliever and I took advantage of that.

Didn't last long though.

Even after all the abuse I'd already put him through, I again, accidentally permanently damaged him again. Threw him right through my windshield. And, at the sight of him flying through all that glass and flying that far was actually quite beautiful and jarring in some sort of way. It all happened in some kind of natural slow motion, until he hit the ground. That was when the real panic set in and time sped up just enough for me to see him land painfully on the ground. I was sure that, that time I'd either killed him or he was never waking up again.

I'd gotten out of my Jeep to go and get him, only to see him trying to get himself up. My feet had frozen and I could just watch as the black brilliance exploded and burned brightly in front of me. It was like Stuart had just suddenly burst into black glittering flames. I just started yelling, calling out his name and asking him stupid questions I know he couldn't answer. It was when he turned to me, turned and looked at for what looked like comfort, that I saw the damage I had truly done.

His eyes, they were pitch black with what I'd known was blood. The doctor's had already explained to me what I'd done to his other eye, an 8-Ball fracture. Two to match and probably more brain damage to go along with it. But, I didn't see the blood or the two black eyes I'd given him, I saw something entirely different. I saw my headline, my front man, my Blue-Haired-Black-Eyed-God. There were so many things I wanted to say to him. I wanted to ask him why he was burning and blinding like the sun. I wanted to ask him if he was okay or was he a zombie I had to kill. I wanted to ask him if he'd ever forgive me. Most of all, I wanted to ask him if he was okay. How out of character for me, it scared me that I even thought to ask.

But, instead of all of that, I asked the stupidest question known to man because I'm such an inconsiderate abusive ass. "Stuart, whot the fuck 'appened to yea?" I'd mentally beat myself up over that question for the rest of that day and maybe a few after that. It was always the same thing, always the same answer, 'You did it you fucking moron. You're almost as stupid as that dullard.'

After that moment, other things began to shine with that same black brilliance that 2D burned with. My band got pulled together and it by itself sparked and burned like the Sun smack dab in my face. A confidence burned in me and I knew, I bloody well knew that this was my band, these were the people I'd spend the rest of my career with.

Russel Hobbs was easy, he had the black spark I was looking for and so, possessed and all I dragged him into my twisted band and didn't give him room to argue. He didn't have the right to argue with me because he was in my band so he was mine and he would always be mine even if he left. He didn't even argue with me, just agreed and stayed. It was quite eerie really, not to savvy with my nerves if you know what I mean eh?

Then came that whore Paula Cracker. She didn't have that black spark I wanted and every time I saw her around my brilliantly burning in black flames Vocalist and Keyboardist, I got angry. I took it out on myself, by smoking two times more than I normally did (and let me tell you that's a lot), by drinking myself into a stupor and by taking it out on the little runt for being so stupid as to bring her into my band in the first place. But the moron was so blinded by 'love' that he didn't care that I didn't want her here. So I decided to do the unthinkable, I would fuck his little girlfriend and see how long he could have her around after that. I mean, he might've held me up on a pedestal so high up he could barely see me anymore but not even an action like that couldn't have gone past his notice.

I did it, we got caught, I got my nose broken but she got kicked the fuck out of my band. Bitch didn't need to be there, she wasn't even wanted. And, to my luck because I am such a lucky fellow, my perfect guitarist showed up in a FedEx crate with a stamp on it.

Can you imagine the shock on my face when a small ten year old purple haired girl pops out of the box and jams out the most amazing rift I've ever heard? I bet you can, I can't because I was too busy trying to shield myself from the sparks flying around her. So, with my Noodle luv, my little girl in my band, I was ready. I had a blackened brilliance so bright and so powerful I had no choice but to hold on. I sold my soul for my band, that's how much I'd loved it. (I still love it, even with my little Noodle and Russel missing.)

Then it was all taken away from me, torn away from me that I literally went off the deep end. I fucked more, I drank more, I smoked more…Satan knows what else I did to try and cope with the loss of the one thing that was keeping me afloat. It was all bleak and dark and completely useless to keep alive. I knew that I needed my band back; I needed that one thing back. I needed my black brilliance back or I would have sold my soul for no reason. I needed a reason damnit.

So, where does that leave us? Oh, yes right, how I got here to this giant pile of floating junk. Fucking stinky junk floating in the middle of nowhere. It was the perfect spot to escape from all the people I'd pissed off in my get rich quick schemes gone to shits. All that was left was my band; I needed my band back together in order to not actually kill myself. How many times had I thought of doing that? Too many, anyways.

I built up an Android Noodle to replace my little missing guitarist and called up 2D to see if he would like to join me. I wanted him back, hell I needed him back. I needed his terrifyingly glorious black flame that burned my eyes and filled me with a glow so powerful I lusted for it.

And the little twit tells me "I dun wanna do anover album Murdoc. I jus wanna, jus wanna stay 'ome y'know?" No, I didn't know because I didn't care. I hung up on him instantly, and immediately got to planning how to bring my singer back because whether he liked it or not I wanted and needed him and he was going to give me what I wanted because I am King and King always gets what he wants no? Yes, the King always gets what he wants.

A few weeks later and he's here with me on this stinking pile of shit trapped in an underwater room with a whale watching him. I'm a vicious old man and I know it but if it's what I have to do to keep him from leaving me high and dry, I'm willing to do it. And, I know you probably don't care about this but….

For some reason I feel like the little face-ache knows I need him here. Like some time in the past I might have told him that I needed him. Maybe, I'd told him I needed him for the band, but it wouldn't have the same weight. The look he gives me sometimes, it's like the look someone gives you when they know the real reason why you keep them around even though you act like you hate them and are nothing but abusive towards them….

No, that's probably just the alcohol and poisoning from all the methane produced here.

That's all…not that bad right?

So, what did'ya think? Was it actually good? Was it horrible like I think it might be?

Lemme know, lemme know.

Lots of luv.

Anah~