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Midnight in the chamber of glass

I bear witness to the silence that suffocates me

Where's the place to rest my head

When the bleeding finds closure

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"Stuart! Oi! Stuart! Wake up!"

2D's head abruptly snapped up and his eyes swiveled upward, giving him a view of Marcello -clad in a pale pink silk shirt that violently offset his bright purple Mohawk-, who did not look happy in the least with him.

"Oh… wot? Sorry." 2D gave the man his full attention. He had been leaning against the wall in a daze for an inexplicable amount of time, a habit that he thought he had gotten the better of long ago, and he could still feel the dull haze the corners of his consciousness as he stared into the opaque lenses of Marcello's sunglasses.

"The afterparty is in twenty minutes. Am I giving you a ride, or are you going to fly there?" the fashion show that evening had been quite a turnout, and as inexperienced as 2D still was in modeling, he had managed to enjoy himself by pretending he was on stage performing in a concert to put himself at ease. The afterparty promised to be quite an event as well, and after the row 2D had had with his live-in girlfriend, Michelle, he didn't expect her to still be his girlfriend, and was fully prepared to pick up some lovely bird for a change. He hadn't engaged in much casual sex since he'd quit Gorillaz, and it sounded like just what he needed tonight.

"I'll just drive m'self, thanks. I didn't take the train today."

"Suit yourself, then. I'm off. See you there?"

2D shrugged casually and muttered a reply just before Marcello was off. Flighty and flamboyantly gay, Marcello, 2D's designer, was the life of parties, and was eager to get started, whereas 2D was somewhat reluctant as he grabbed his jacket from that back of a chair. The party scene just wasn't the same these days, struggling to fit in with crowds of people he didn't know, who wouldn't adore him because of his music. It was unnerving after years of fame, and 2D was beginning to think that he didn't belong in the real world. But he sure as hell didn't want to go crawling back to Murdoc… that bastard would be expecting it. 2D could just imagine his sneer. No, he'd tough it out, and show Murdoc that while he was nothing without 2D, 2D was perfectly capable without Murdoc. He grabbed the bag with his normal clothes and hurried out the door of the studio, back into life.

XXX

The party was exactly as he had expected it. Crowds of people, extravagantly dressed and gaudily bejeweled like peacocks, strutting in a manner so much like the garish birds that 2D had to suppress a giggle. It had always been a problem of his, comparing everything to something else in his head. It was why his lyrics were filled with heavy metaphors that made no sense to anyone else, completely missing the literal sense of the song. He loved it.

It wasn't hard to stay on the edge of the crowd and lurk inconspicuously. Though he didn't exactly blend with the crowd, he had long ago mastered an uncanny ability to be a slouched, unappealing shadow when he wanted to, and tonight was one of those times. It was refreshing not to be constantly stalked by adoring female fangirls (these swanky parties were rarely a breeding ground for Gorillaz fans), and he wove his way deftly along the edges of the milling crowd, managing to stay discreet until he heard a familiar voice from somewhere to his immediate left.

"Stuart! Hey hello good evening. There's some people from Buttons magazine that want to a word with you. They thought you were…what was the word… inspiring tonight, and they may want to do a spread of you," Marcello said, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing him delicately by the elbow to keep him from moving any further. "Maybe in some custom undies, it sounded like. I'll go and get them… stay put." and he swept away as suddenly as he had appeared, leaving 2D by the wall with a feeling of revulsion at the thought of speaking to magazine people. They were always so probing… something inhuman about them made him want to gag. Quickly, he slid sideways down the wall, his hand finding the handle to open the sliding glass doors onto the room's balcony.

The night was chilly: it was early September, and the gray drizzle that plagued London to no end hung over everything. Save for a single man passed out drunk at one of the tables, the balcony was empty. Automatically he fished into his pocket for his pack of fags and his lighter, bringing the burning cigarette happily to his lips and inhaling the sweet smoke. He'd been trying to discipline himself into quitting, but he had no heart to do so, especially not now, when it was the only thing that kept him relaxed. He leaned over the railing and watched tiny automobiles slide by on the streets far below, watched the glow of tiny red phone booths as people stopped to call loved ones. The smoke trailed softly from the glowing end of his cigarette.

Jump.

The voice in his head startled him, and he jerked with surprised before he managed to regain his composure. His cigarette had dropped from his hand, and he watched it fall down, becoming invisible as it fell away from him, a tiny shard of light that disappeared and shrank into nothing.

Jump.

The voice was not his own internal, but a deep, eerie voice, penetrating and unwelcome, as though his mind was being watched by an unwanted visitor. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the railing as he fought against the tide of a migraine that was setting in behind his eyes. It was a tight had clutching his brain, a deep bloody trench carved into his consciousness…

"Stuart!"

His head snapped up from his chest and he looked forward, only to be greeted by the image of the open air. He could feel himself wobbling, and confusion flooded him when he realized that he was perched precariously on the railing, legs tensed to jump. With a yelp, he tumbled backward, landing hard on his back on the cement balcony. Faces swam above him… Marcello and some unfamiliar faces with the distinct soullessness of magazine people.

"Hello…" was all that he could manage to get out. The faces above him reeled for a moment before coming into focus, and he picked himself up from the floor. "Just doing a bit of balancing."

"This is Stuart Pot. Stuart, these are Marissa Sanchez and David Zimmer… they're representatives of Buttons magazine."

2D dutifully shook their hands. "It's lovely to meet you. I don't mean to be rude but… this isn't the best time for me." he fished one of his cards from his pocket and handed it to Marissa, who was the nearest. "You can call me on my mobile sometime in the afternoon and we can set something up." he nodded at them in farewell and ducked back into the party. In a matter of moments he made quick eye contact with a slender brunette by the buffet table, and she immediately sidled up to him, telling him that his plans for the night were set.

It wasn't until they were outside and headed for the brunette's (who happened to be named Claire) car that 2D spotted an empty pack of Lucky Lung cigarettes lying soggy in the gutter and completely lost his appetite for sex. A blackness flooded his stomach like poison, and he found himself apologizing and ducking into a cab. And later, as he unlocked the door to his flat and dropped his coat by the door, he wondered what exactly was wrong with him.

He had been right in assuming that Michelle would be gone; her belongings had disappeared and her key to the flat lay on the countertop with her share of the month's rent. It was more of a relief than a sadness that filled him, the lifting of a burden that had never really been satisfying in the first place. Her leaving had been eminent for months, and 2D wondered what had held the dead-end relationship up for so long.

In the bathroom, he washed the clumps of gel from his hair, restoring it to its usual array of uneven spikes. Even in the soft light of the bathroom, the ungainly shade of his hair (somewhere between its dyed blonde and his natural blue, faded after dyeing it blonde the day he left the band) was obvious. The blonde tinge in the azure locks was sickly yellow. His face was caked with makeup to keep his skin from shining under the harsh light of the runway, and he scraped it off, leaving his clean boyish face exposed and clean. He had stopped wearing the glass eyes months ago, white orbs with transparent blue irises and clear pupils to hide the two dents of his eyes, and without them, he looked eerie and hollow, the embodiment of the zombies on his television screen.

The living room was dark, and he switched on the lamps before checking the messages on his answering machine. There were a few calls from the modeling agency about his appointments for the week, his landlord informing him that the rent was past due, and a message that began with a rough, scratchy silence before any words were spoken.

"Er… D." Pause. "It's Murdoc. I… we…I don't know how to make this sound sane, but…. some weird shit's been happening lately… around Kong. I found Noodle… in a crate in the bunker… she'd been down there this entire time… and somehow she was fine. And there's been… it's just been weird. I can't explain it. It'd really help if you can back to Kong for a bit… helped us sort this out. I'll… see you later then, mate." Click.

Without missing a beat, 2D leaned down and pushed the erase button on the machine, filled with satisfaction as the computerized voice declared "message erased". "Fuck you," he muttered to the machine. "If some shit's going on that you can't handle, you can just kiss my bloody arse and deal wif it." it felt good to say, even if Murdoc couldn't hear it. He had a beer, watched the news, and went to bed trying to shake the sound of Murdoc's voice from his mind.

XXX

There's a light

At the window

Burning clean into your shallow dream

There a melody

A ghost in the chambers

Breaking free of all that tethers me

Tell me when will I be alive again