New Generation

It was nearly a quarter to three when the first cry was heard. Three in the morning that is. The moon barely shimmering a fade of mist over the lands below, choosing where to shine and where to decline. The night was peaceful and fragile, unlike all those that had been haunted by the undead or crying ghosts. Obnoxious things they were. The trees naked in their season, swaying with the occasional scratching of branches or snapping of twigs, light wind throwing spurts when necessary. The sound of the late night early morning was very calming, and even tempting to dare a nap in the midst of the graveyard. No one would be stupid enough to risk such a chance, but the idea was available to any soul who wanted to die an early...painful...disgusting death.

Within the restraints of the studio off in the near center of the carpark bobbed the Winnebago, the weight of its master moving from one end to the other in search of some cigarettes forcing its pressure on the tires, though it did not matter. He barely drove the godforsaken thing anywhere, anyway (as if anyone would let him). Leaning forward, the raven haired rhythmic mastermind ran a few fingers over his scratchy multicolored cheek, realizing he'd need a shave before the pigment of age caught up with him. He pressed his elbow against the counter top before him, nestling his chin within the crook of his palm, pondering the purpose of his journey, the point of enigma. To his left was Cortez, tucked deeply within the world of dreams and at this point, no return. Smirking, the ex-con ran his pointer over one of the sleek wings, gentle enough to not startle nor wake the creature. He knew many things that the others did not. It was the beauty of confiding in something that spoke two languages, especially when those languages were incomprehensible to those who were not in the circle of trust.

However, those others were not completely useless. They did earn him a bit of cash and entertain him from time to time. Even made him feel special on occasions or forced him to care about hygiene, though he wasn't too keen on the subject. He could've sworn a smile leaked out once or twice, but it could've been the drugs or booze. They weren't strangers...and...maybe even more than roommates. Band mates, yes, he'd call it that on the exterior. What were they really to him? Well...it didn't honestly matter. They just weren't useless was all. Completely useless, pardon.

And then there was always the ability of sharing. Hm...this was something Murdoc Niccals enjoyed the most about being both leader and provider of a home (even though it was mounted on the gates of hell). It was the borrowing ordeal that made him fancy the idea of...friends. Those idiots could have the nicest things. Nicer than he? Well, why buy when you can borrow? And by borrow...use then never return or use, break, and lie. It was only the greatest plan conjured in the history of mankind (in his opinion) and he was just about to perform it. Careful to not wake his beloved pet, Murdoc tenderly stepped out of the trailer home and casually waltzed over to the singer's door, checking the locks first. The knob spun a full semicircle. Wot a tart...

Not quite the smartest thing to do in a land infested with night crawlers, but Murdoc shrugged it off. He had been slightly forced to care for the safety of his band mates, though he rarely gave it much thought. Without them, there's no Gorillaz. No Gorillaz, no paychecks. Freezing in place for just a split second, the eldest member wondered what the youngest was doing, sleeping in a chair besides the wide bed, then recalled the doof complaining about pains in his gut after eating some greenish pizza. Possibly thought it was vegetable topped or something. However, Noodle's posture was unacceptable in his opinion. Neck bent, arms twisted, legs crunched, back hunched...no. Taking a few steps in, he used the light of the carpark to find his way through the floor (the singer was never known as a neat freak), gathering the teen up with a little more strength than expected and placed her gently on the bed beside the blue haired god.

Almost immediately, her body responded by curling and cuddling up to the closest thing possible, Stuart Pot. After a good minute, he decided to leave it be, rubbing along his side and silently opening the nightstand drawer, needing not to hound for more than two seconds before he found the pack of Lucky Lungs he had been craving. Pulling one out with utmost care, he tucked it between his lips, grabbing the lighter right next to a copy of...what was that? Rise of the Ogre? Glancing over his shoulder, Murdoc arched a brow and grabbed another fag for emergency, setting the carton back in its proper place to shut the drawer. Not exactly his choice of a typical bedtime novel, but the dullard on the other hand did have his days. Good read, couldn't argue with that, but bless the poor soul expected to voice-over all quotes to sound like the actual speaker. Now, it wasn't exactly proven that the singer had such a habit, but Murdoc could bet his life that tomorrow morning Noodle would wake up with a hoarse throat from imitating yours truly. It was just too predictable. The piano man just had a way to make her do almost anything without much effort on his behalf. Having somewhat of the talent himself, Murdoc did use it on occasions...but it always required using that word...began with a "p"...

The singer just knew how to say it without stuttering. Even repeated it over a hundred times if he had to. Strange though...Murdoc usually only had to say it once for it to work...or act as if whatever the deed was really meant something to him. That took some practice. Either way, he was positive Noodle had a softer side for the thin bluehead anyway, best friends always ruled majority. Rolling the lighter within his fingers, he eyed the scene once again, nearing towards the door.

He supposed he would have to defend them both...after all, he needed to protect his guitarist's reputation as well as his own just for the simple facts. She was female. The press always loved a good juicy story about some skank in high waters pretending to know how to live the game of life. Not his Noodle. She was a good kid. Well, barely kid anymore, but still. Good enough. Only one who seemed to honestly care, anyway. He owed her for that...

Noisy as death, the bassist closed the door behind him, deciding right away it was far too hot and sticky inside the carpark to have a smoke. The smell of exhaust and fumes from his own doing were not going to mix well in his stomach (or head). Running his fingers through his hair and down his neck, Murdoc climbed through the exit zombies always broke in through, the nice hole in the wall. You'd think they would have fixed it by now...

He sat quietly after a good bit of shifting around, sighing softly as the cool breeze hit him in a thrust, whipping away any form of tired heat on his body. Slowly, he closed his eyes, taking in the only form of life besides himself, chest out and strong. Nevermore did he enjoy a moment such as this when he wanted to be alone and not think, but feel. Feel the world around him. Wonder what it could be like if any different. Sleep with open eyes.

Pinching his fag, he steadied it in his mouth, adjusting his vision a crack just to light the damn thing when he heard it. Clear as a bell with the essence of alarm. Furrowing his brows in disturbed confusion, the dark bassist rose from his seat of broken cinder blocks and pocketed the plastic flamer, taking a step towards the sound. "Eh?" he muttered quietly, ear out for a reply. There it was again, but more angrily. It was a scream...no...cry. An...angered cry. A cry calling for comfort...a cry wanting to be pacified. Extending his neck out, the infamous Brit began his search between tombs and graves, knocking his knee against one every three steps or so, "Aw shit..."

He found it near some bushes, barely wrapped inside a thin, sea green blanket on top of a dirty, stripped pillow. The cries continued until Murdoc was above him, staring down in a stunned manner. His large chocolate brown eyes gazed up at his multicolored ones with fragments of hope lingering between each bat, dirty...cold...hungry. Rubbing his face before crouching down, the bassist squinted at the tiny being, inspecting his face. He shared the same facial structure of he and Hannibal. Interesting. The creature gently hiccuped when the band leader scooped him up, settling his tiny crown on the left shoulder, pure breaths tickling along the hairs of Murdoc's neck. "Left yeh out 'ere like a fuckin' godfersakin' dog..." the middle aged rocker grunted almost spitefully, his hands curving around the young one's body in a form of protection.

His legs became...almost graceful in his manner of walking, avoiding any stone or obstacle that had made a fool of him earlier. He was careful in handling the starting life, wrapping the blanket up over his head and holding him away from the winds rather than against it. His chin...nudged the baby's head as he peeked into the carpark from the outside, preparing himself for his entrance. 2D and Noodle appeared out for the count when he raided the room, and Russel hardly ever came down unless it was of utmost emergency. Murdoc took a moment, glancing down at the broken bits of cement. Hm...no, wait. They refilled the fridge two days ago. He was safe.

Hugging the small one to his chest with his left, the bassist grabbed the edge of some half glued bricks poking out like a poorly played round of Tetris, kicking his right leg in and settling it down gently, pulling himself through with ease. The baby gurgled in his shirt, however since he obtained an empty belly, there was nothing to spit up. Back against the wall, the dark one eyed the singer's door, a mess of spray paint loaded on the door, but it did not open. Hurriedly with young one in arms, Murdoc broke in a run right until he was in front of the Winnebago, quickly unhooking the door from its latch and shutting it tightly. The abrupt movement had woken Cortez, now circling above his master in a sleepy fashion, but the baby's eyes were large and staring, confusion radiating from his tiny face.

Shaking his head with a smirk, Murdoc Niccals poked the youth's belly, peeking out from behind the passenger's seat to spy on the door. Still closed. He had made it. Taking a well earned breath, he sat on the descending stairs, holding the little guy at bent arm's length to really examine the extended blood of his doing. "Hm...yeh got some ears on yeh, don't yeh..." the man muttered to himself as the child sucked on his own fingers. It was true. His ears were a bit popped, but nothing a little hair couldn't fix eventually...or tape. The top of the month old's head was covered in dark brown fuzz, somewhat matching his eyes, yet those were a special color all of their own. Murdoc was sure he had never seen such a pigment before as he poked his nose against the other's, gazing deeply into the irises of an innocent life. Again, the child hiccuped, this time releasing a slight whimper.

"Right, right...'ang on..." the bassist sighed, raising himself with a cough. He was almost positive he was running low on formulas...It was just so hard to find good varieties when the world (or your band mates) stalked your every move. Yanking open the mini fridge, Murdoc shifted around a few beer cans before finding two cans of formula, "Yo' lucky kid...nearly out. Cortez, find me a bottle." The Winnie bounced with each step Murdoc took, careful to not make too much noise. He'd shoot himself if word got out. And possibly the one who spread it, no matter who they were.

He seated himself on the edge of his bed, pushing himself in reverse until his back was aligned with the wall, kicking off his boots in the process. His hand reached out to Cortez, bearing an empty bottle in tow. "Thanks, mate. 'at'll be all." he dismissed, watching the bird settle down on the table and curl back to sleep. Lowering his head a bit, the olive tinted song writer dug his nail under the tab, snapping a hole in the aluminum top. With precision, he attentively poured the entire can into the plastic bottle, discarding it in the sloppiest aspect to spin the nipple tightly. Through all this, the auburn haired infant, nestled in the musician's lap, watched...almost admiringly as his feast was set before him. This savior had come...taken him from the lonely ditch of the outside world...into a place of sanctuary...of refuge...of...love.

Could he possibly understand what was happening around him? No...he was far too young to. Right? Shaking his head, Murdoc tipped the container and poked the nipple between the child's lips, smashing it against his nose. Almost instantly half of the fluid was gone, leaving the bassist in both marvel and empathy. Who knew how long this kid had been out there? Who knew when his last meal was? ...Only the child. If he could even remember that far back. Nearly three quarters of the way down, the small one stopped sucking, a strange irritation gorged out in his expression. Tucking the bottle between his knees, Murdoc heaved the boy over his shoulder, tenderly rubbing gentle strokes between two to three seconds each. After a good minute came the watery bubble of air, calming the tot down into a sleepy daze, barely able to see the eldest clearly. A meager shadow of a smile crossed the bassist's face, though one could mistake it for anything other than what it was. Laying him delicately into the crook of his right arm, the jailbird poked the tiny flat nose, scarcely uttering a sound, "Yeh look like...an Angus..." Blinking sleepily, the baby yawned, nothing to insinuate a negative pulse on the option.

The bassist stared at the child with a bit of humane...compassion, "...Angus it is." Watching his eyes glaze over, Murdoc sighed, looking at what the kid was wearing. He was zipped up in a filthy, dirt stained, blue footsy pajama suit, cuffs as dirty as the graves outside. "'ate teh say 'is...but yeh makin' me give yeh a washin'." the eldest groaned, tugging at zipper, almost positive the child was mentally thanking him. It took five minutes to throw out the rancid clothing and gently sponge him down, careful to avoid his healing belly button. Way in the back of his cabinet he found a spare diaper and pulled off a tiny tee from some stuffed animal Noodle had given him for his birthday one year. Smirking, he read the shirt to himself, "Innocence is overrated.", chuckling at such an irony. The smile soon disappeared as he realized what was next to come. The young one was nearly asleep, snug within the comforts of the lumpy tan mattress with little to worry about in his small world of enclosure. He knew nothing much of the real world outside of this protective barrier...nothing of what could happen within the barrier.

This thought somewhat upset the bassist's stomach. Firstly, he would be...hurting...his own spawn...and secondly...he could possibly be discovered. But this was necessary...absolute. Rubbing the side of his neck, Murdoc backed himself near his closet, eyes never leaving the child for more than a second. Silently, he opened the door and grabbed the suitcase placed neatly on the furthermost right side. It was black...a leather case with wasted handles. It had played its role for a long time, the past etched into its worn skin. Setting the case beside the infant, Murdoc unhooked the golden latches, pulling out two clear plastic gloves for himself. Avoiding any type of eye contact with the child, he slipped them on with a snap, cracking his fingers quickly to rid his nerves. Never did like this part...but then again...he did.

Clearing his throat, he slowly lifted a small syringe, a dark purple fluid barely taking a forth of the capacity in the tube, and within this, a microscopic square. Blinking softly, Angus merely eyed the things around him, sucking on his fingers when there was nothing to entertain him. He didn't mind the cool napkin wiping his thigh or the shiny tool the giant man stared at for a minute. It was the unbearable pain that shot through his leg and up his spine that disturbed the child into a shocked and angered scream. However, it never made it past Murdoc's hand. "Shhhh! Awright, shut it! Quiet, yeh 'ear me? I 'ave teh do 'is, so shut it!" the olive toned man hissed, finally pulling out the empty needle from the chubby leg of the offspring. It dropped to the floor and rolled under his bed as he traded the weapon of pain for the frightened, pained youngster. "Awright..." he whispered, cuddling and prodding him, "Shhh...its over...'at's it..."

Though the pain had been bothersome, the quick, bounced rocking seemed to do just fine as a soother and sleep inducer, lulling the little boy into a spooked and hiccuping dreamland. His large tears soaked through Murdoc's shirt, and possibly into his heart, as the typical rock star slowly sat on his bed with the child's face in the crook of his neck. The small body shuttered on and off, as if remembering the event in replay even when the throbbing pain had subsided. It was almost a test for Murdoc...just to see what out of norm action he would perform next, but nothing was too strange for the leader to rely on. He closed his eyes, resting his right hand on the back of the baby's head, thinking...breathing...living.

Releasing a pent sigh, he opened an eye, catching the hour off his wall. "S'bout time I drop yeh off..." the dark one whispered, lifting the slumbering child off his shoulder. He tried to take a mental picture, but he knew too well that he'd soon forget it until the next one came along. Giving one last humane gesture, the bassist poked his large pointer finger within the palm of five miniature ones. "I'll find yeh when I need yeh...we 'ave us an army teh build, don't we?" the shady Brit grinned foully, and in shadow, one could almost say the infant agreed with its gurgled smile. The wind seemed to pick up outside, and silence was no more.

&&&

The singer's door opened momentarily, revealing a very sleepy and dreary guitarist, hair sticking in all the wrong places and crick in the neck to match. Her fingers gently massaged the pain away as her sight caught the bassist off to the side, arms crossed with his cigarette between his first and second fingers, eyes closed as the rainy breeze drizzled him wet. Curiosity beating her exhaustion, the Jap gently closed the door behind her not to wake the one in the room and soundlessly crept alongside the bassist.

"'ad a nice nap wit the dullard, love?"

Frowning a bit, Noodle tilted her head to the opposite side of the pain, "Actually, I do not recall ever seating myself on the bed, Murdoc. Perhaps you would know something about it." Smirking slightly, his arms unfolded and applied the lung killer between his lips, wiping the drops of rain from his face, "Per'aps I would..." A crack of thunder shook the ground, shooting a strike of lightening across the sky. If the outcome hadn't been so loud, it might have been beautiful. Pulling her sleeves over her icy hands, the teen rubbed her eye, glancing at the bassist. He seemed distant, but then again, none of them did hold onto the clasp of reality. She parted her lips to ask if something was off, but before she could, he opened his eyes and snickered, "Yeh enjoyed it either way." Cheeks huffed, Noodle punched his arm, sure to leave a bruise, but not a break, and turned on her heel, mumbling darkly of her elder. Never would he grow a heart or change his evil ways. He'd still be the same old dirty, heartless, cruel, and malicious Murdoc Faust Niccals he'd always been.

Watching her leave in her irritation, the bassist glanced up at the sky, tossing his fag towards the graves. There was a future in store for them all. He...his band...his children...the day would soon come. It was building. Slowly, but surely. Until then...he'd have to be Murdoc Faust Niccals...today...tomorrow...forever...There was a war out there and when it came his way...he'd be ready. He'd always be ready. Because he knew...he knew the outcome. A Niccals never lost.


Author's Note: I guess its a little longer. (sigh) I'm a bit nervous. I'm playing one of my teacher's wives in our senior talent show (which is more like a high school version of Mad TV) and I have only 5 lines, but I've never been on a stage before and I'm hoping to the mighty one above that I don't forget my lines the night of the show. That would suck. (deep breath) Oh well, what happens, happens. I wrote this out of stress. And it's a bit different, I noticed, but I do believe there is a softer side to Murdoc than meets the eye. How else would he recreate the innocent "Bambi eyes"? XD