A/N: Well, chapter two!!! Here's hoping….
Six months later….
Daniel, or "D" as he called himself, sat in front of his computer, scrolling at high speed down an Ebay list. In the months since his accident, he had become obsessed with gaining back his former glory. He had been fitted with prosthetics, but he couldn't drum with them. Indeed, the leg replacements barely allowed him to walk, and he used a wheelchair more often. Cory walked into the room, her hair spiked up. She was still famous, unlike D, and did everything she could to raise money for him. She snuck up behind him, laying her hand on his shoulder. "Whatcha doin'?" she asked.
"Healing." he muttered.
"You always say that. I mean what are you looking at? New drumsets?" she asked. The only topic they both cared about was drumming. She had bought him his first bass, and he got her her first hi-hat. They had a passion for percussion that could outlast all their arguments, which occurred a lot.
"Not quite." said D. He clicked a picture of an innocent looking blue box. "Know what this is?" he asked, a smile on his face. "Think Gorillaz."
"What's that supposed to…ohmigod." Oh yeah, the other agreement: Both were huge Gorillaz fans. And any true fan knew that machine. "The hip-hop box. I thought that was Russell's."
"It does. But look who's selling it." said D, pointing to the username of the seller. " "'MudsNiccals'. Ring any bells?"
"Niccals? Like, Murdoc Niccals? Oh, now he's dreamy…" his sister said, eyes misting over. D, meanwhile, grabbed a phone. "Who the hell are you calling?" asked Cory.
"Murdoc himself. The number's right here next to the item. And I gotta make sure this is real." He looked up, eyes shining. "This could be it, sis. This could get me back on the drumming scene. All I need is that box."