Chapter 3

figleaf again, sorry if this chapter gets really dark and depressing, but I was in a sort of writing frenzy and couldn't stop. Plus there's more 2D innit :D Poor 'lil Stupot

Disclaimer: Don't own 'Rillaz

"Were ya eva' in luv, Muh-doc?" 2D suddenly asked from the couch.

Murdoc's face shot up at the singer from the amp on the floor he was fiddling with a mixture of shock and revulsion from the fact that he was being asked this by his frontman. "Wot the hell are you going on about now, half-wit," he spat, bringing himself up.

2D ran a hand through his spiky hair, ruffling it up a bit while looking down at the sheets of yellow tattered paper in his other hand. He began shuffling through the notes reading the barely legible scrawl written on them, his fractured eyes now caught on the few select strings of words he was searching for. He scratched his head in confusion, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Wull, it's just that right 'ere it's all talkin' about a shattered feelin' you're havin' and that you're sorry 'bout summfin' an wanna be forgiven. An 'en it starts talkin' bout luv or summfink. Iss like a luv song, is wot it is."

Murdoc growled at the singer and gave him a death glare, but the oblivious singer continued, unaware of the bassist's furious reaction.

"I woulda neva' known ya to write a luv song in all mah years knowin' ya, Muds. 'Specially not one this... erm, roman'ic," the blue haired man concluded. "Tas why I wos wonderin', is all."

Despite the compliment that now flew over the Satanist's head like Cortez dodging an empty beer can, he gritted his teeth in irritation and stormed his way to the singer, causing him too yelp out and cower down into the seat, shielding his face with the sheet music. He swung a fist at his dented head.

"Aaargh! Flippin... Muh-doc!" he cried out.

"You ain't gettn' paid ta question it, face-ache, yer just suppose ta sing it," He growled.

"But you 'aven't paid me nuffin!" the clueless, pretty-boy whined, clutching the part of his head that throbbed in pain.

"Ahoo. Tha's right. Hrmhmhm," the Satanist chortled with a wicked grin.

"Come on Muds, 'oo is she? Tell me!" 2D pleaded, seeming to already forget the injury.

Murdoc snorted and plopped down next to him on the couch, arms folded.

"You 'ad to 'ave experienced summfin' ta do wif luv ta a come up wif these lyrics," he added.

"Ehh, lay off already, would ya?" Murdoc grumbled, annoyed at the sudden intrusion onto his private life. "Besides... I 'avent seen 'er in years. Pro'lly dead or somethin' anyway," he muttered, feigning disinterest in the matter.

2D gave him a look of sympathy. He wondered how much of his life was spent with this mystery girl, what she looked like, if she loved him back. The very idea of someone actually being in love with Murdoc perplexed his daft little mind. He'd never really seen him with a girlfriend before, now that he thought about it. It was always flings and casual sex from groupies, and he seemed content with just that. In fact, the sodding bastard adored it. The attention, the fame, the feeling of empowerment over women as a sex symbol. 2D could hardly believe the soulless Satanist had a soft spot for anyone, let alone love for this one particular girl he dedicated a song to.

He knew the bassist was already irritated with his prodding, but he just had to know.

"Did she love ya back, Muds?" he asked.

An unexpected flash of loneliness appeared on his face as he mulled over the question, taking 2D by surprise. He tried to hide it behind a frown.

The bassist finally gave into his band mate's meddling with a sigh of defeat, unfolding his arms. "Since you won't stop buggin' me about it, Dullard. I'll tell you." He said in a tone that the singer could only describe as melancholy. He stirred in his seat before continuing, 2D eagerly awaiting to hear the rest.

"This girl, she was the world ta me, I jus' didn't see it at the time. I know she trusted me, but I didn't deserve 'er trust. God, I was so stupid for letting her think that. An' 'en I lost her cos of somethin' I did..." The bassist's eyes stared off into nothingness, his face turning pale.

Stuart listened intently as the older man sighed again, unsure if he should continue.

"Wot.. did you do?" he dared to ask after a brief moment. He feared he would stike him again in a fit of anger, but the weary chartreuse skinned satanist just stayed lost in his own thoughts.

"Somethin' real bad, though it wasn't my intention for 'er ta get caught up in it! It just sort of 'appened, and thing's just fell apart after that. She did somethin' for me, a huge favor, but I lost track of 'er before I could return the favor. The worst part of it all's not knowin' if she'll ever forgive me..."

2D made a small whimper and both men sat there, a heavy silence filling the room. It was really unusual, maybe a little awkward to open up to 2D, yet he felt a great weight lifted off his shoulders.

The amount of sincerity in the bassist's words made the younger man slightly rethink the way he thought about him, yet Murdoc was always some sort of a mystery. He was very unpredictable during the most unexpected times.

Murdoc all of a sudden shot up from his seat, startling the young singer out of his evaluation of him.

"Well enough of that ol' rubbish, start packing all this equipment into th' sub, you lazy sod! We've got a very long tour ahead of us in the states, and I don't want you mucking it up with your shenanigans." He returned to the same amp from before, unhooking all the wires on one swift motion and tread out the door into the study with a quickened pace. 2D watched from his seat the door slowly closing shut behind him and quickly caught a glimpse of the bassist on the other side stopping. His mind seemed to be heavy in thought.

It was about 11:45 am when they had packed everything they needed for the tour into the submarine. Murdoc couldn't help but feel a little insecure about leaving his home of Plastic Beach, even with the tightest security measures in place and with the fact that it was the furthest point from any landmass making it extremely difficult, if not, impossible for anyone to reach it but him, with of course, the exception of those bloody pirates after his arse. The last thing he would want was coming home to the pile of rubbish he started out with.

Then the thought jolted into his mind. The same thought that unanticipatingly burst into his head every single time he set foot off the island. It didn't matter if it was just to go sail out on the Orka to go fishing, that thought latched onto his brain forcing him to dwell on it.

What if she appeared.

What if she suddenly showed up literally out of the blue looking for him and he was off in some sleazy club in New York, shit-faced, flirting with some Cameron Diaz look-alike trying to impress her with free backstage entrance to his Madison Square gig, while she was there, pulling up on shore, only to be met with a cold plastic husk of an island vacant of his presence, laughing at her for even thinking she could reach him; taunting her with it's faux beauty masking an exuberant pile of filth and refuse collected from factories all over the planet pumping their waste into the sea to form some kind of sick, twisted, almost obscene illusion of paradise, one that she wanted no part of.

Surely she would be disgusted with it the moment she laid her eyes on it, more so with him for having built such a terribly shallow place devoid of any real sense of a natural essence or purity.

She would wonder what the hell she was doing there in such a desolate place, seeking out the very unstable man who made her go through hell because of his thirst for superiority over all. A grotesque form of what was once a human being at one point, clamoring at the very first chance of fame he could reach his filthy, egotistically greedy hands on. Going even as far as replacing her position in the band, her family, with a shanty copy made with the stolen remnants of her past self in order to fulfill his wicked desire to mock her, even after her presumed death.

There was absolutely no way she would ever see him as she once did. A friend? Family? What was he to her? The poor man's excuse for a dead beat dad, perhaps. A surly drunk with a sick need to have her shelved within his reach with the other women, just waiting to fulfill his own disgusting sexual desires when she was ripe for the picking?

For all he knew, she loathed him for what he did to her. He sacrificed her innocence, having her "take one for the team," as he put it to create a pseudo message to the world about keeping your hopes dreams alive, even after you're gone while in reality, he finally was able to once and for all get his revenge on the brat who stole his second album, right from under his crimped nose. Death was only a fitting punishment for crossing him, and this was his way of showing the world that no one ever dared cross Murdoc Nicalls.

No.

This wasn't true.

He loved her. He would never use her like that. She meant more to him than every bottle of booze he'd drunk, every pack of Lucky Lungs he soiled his health with, and every woman he had ever slept with combined. Even more than the very fame he sold his own soul for. She knew that. He didn't need to say it, she understood.

Stop fighting it! She hates you for what you did! They all do!

The thoughts seemed to be consuming his brain as though from a darker, sinister source. He almost couldn't handle it, mentally fighting them as they ripped apart his emotions and mutilated them, fashioning them into weapons used against him. It swept through him like a dark force encompassing him, clasping his neck, choking him.

Murdoc fell to his knees clutching his head. Eyes shut tight, teeth gritted as his mind screamed "go away." This had happened before to him, but never had it been to this extreme, consuming him. 2D ran to him, his mouth moving in a panicked frenzy, but his voice came out distorted, like a slow motion recording played backwards. He could no longer sense the outside world, save muffled cries of his band mate. Before he felt as though his entire being were ripped from his body, a clear noise blasted through the torment. The sound of a gunshot.

...

Cyborg fired.

...

Reality came flooding back instantly as his mental assassin withdrew his clutches, causing him crash onto the ground in a fit of short unsteady gasps as oxygen filled his lungs again. His eyes darted wildly around from the ground and spotted a sobbing blue haired figure shivering uncontrollably next to him, his eyes heavy with tears.

"Wh-wh, whu...wot..." 2D stuttered, voice trembling.

"Wot the fuck wos that fing?" He finally choked out in sobs. Murdoc lay there gasping, clutching his rapid beating heart, the singer looking down on him in concern.

"Muh-doc! Please, be okay! I dunno wot that black fing wos, but I fink it wos trying to kill you," 2D wailed.

Able to regain a normal breathing pattern, Murdoc slowly began to stagger to his feet, feeling very unsettled about what he had just endured. 2D grabbed a hold of his arm and helped him up all the way, his palms cold and sweaty. Murdoc grasped the lanky man's shoulder, steadying himself, and he mumbled something.

"Is... 'e gone?" he breathed out in almost a whisper to the trembling man supporting him.

"That fing... Cyborg tried 'a blast it away wif 'er gun, but it got away," he choked out.

"Wot...who was it?"

Murdoc let out a weak growl, then a pained cough.

"You remember that ol' sea cow? That wos the cretin who took 'im down."