Chapter 29: Murdoc's Tale, Part 2

. . .

A Summary of Chapter 28 in case anyone didn't want to read it:

As a child, Murdoc was manipulated by his older brother Hannibal. Hannibal had "good days," when he would treat Murdoc like a friend, and 'bad days," when he was abusive. Hannibal tried to kill Murdoc, but was stopped and killed by their father.

As a teenager, Murdoc ran away from home to avoid his father. He was homeless for a while, but managed to start a band and earn some money. Unfortunately, his father tracked him down and tried to kill him after Murdoc refused to make him the band manager. Murdoc killed his father in an act of self-defense. A mysterious group of people cleaned up the crime scene, leaving Murdoc confused but relieved.

Murdoc's mental health had been deteriorating, and he began hearing voices in his head and at times feeling dissociated from himself. The confrontation between Murdoc and Stuart at the bar in Crawley (see Chapter 1) set off a dissociative episode which ended with Murdoc driving a car into the piano emporium and knocking Stuart into a coma.

The mysterious group who'd helped Murdoc cover the murder of his father appeared again, introducing themselves as the Suppliers and revealing that they'd been following Murdoc's attempts to create a successful band. They offered to provide funds for Murdoc's next band if he let them test their pills on Stuart and use Stuart as a marketing tool. Murdoc was hesitant, but the voices in his head convinced him to accept the Supplier's deal.

Years later, Gorillaz was doing well, but when Noodle wrote Demon Days, Murdoc's mental health was strained by fears of losing control of his band. Murdoc had a bad episode which almost resulted in him attempting to harm Noodle, at which point he realized how badly his mental health had deteriorated. Desperate to escape the stressors in his life and the voices in his head, Murdoc let the band wander apart after Demon Days, not caring whether 2D stayed on his pills or not, and decided to isolate himself on an island…

. . .

I'd gotten used to a lot of noise.

At first, the Plastic Beach was no different – the cheering crowds replaced with crashing waves, the band onstage replaced with a crackling radio. I'd crank the volume up as high as it would go, hoping to drown out that incessant voice in the back of my head heckling me about my soul and the Suppliers and my dead family.

It turns out, even imaginary voices weren't tireless.

After painfully loud hours (perhaps days – I could never keep track), I would find myself alone, adrift in a strange silence of rhythmic noise, where the familiar beat of waves and bleat of seagulls felt insignificant, almost calming. That's when I had time to think. With the voice in my head too tired to go on, I could sift the memories that made up my train-wreck of an existence without each frame being warped out of shape. Reliving the memories wasn't fun, not by far. Sometimes they made me so enraged, or afraid, that I'd wish the voice would come back to distract me. It's strange, really… That's when the voice started getting quieter.

There was no big, soul-rending change. I didn't wake up one balmy day with a sparkle in my eye and a conviction that, henceforth, I would be different. As shoddy as my bent-up psyche was, it was comfortable to me. It was me. I couldn't just shed it off like a bloody snakeskin; there would be nothing left. But…

I thought about decisions I'd made. Not the bad ones – the good ones, the ones that didn't make me want to punch a wall when I thought about them. Y'know, as much as it sucked, I still felt pride when I thought about the band I formed before Gorillaz, the one with all the homeless people I scraped up. I built that from nothing! It didn't get me far, but it got me somewhere, didn't it? Well… It got me to the alleyway that night, the wrong place, the wrong time, my father, the knife, the Suppliers… But what if things hadn't gone that way? What if whatever deity that kept raining crap on my life decided to dry up for a minute so that I could breathe and enjoy the ride? My first band would never have been world-famous; it didn't have that kind of talent – but it would've gotten by. It could've gotten a modest group of fans, and maybe, just maybe, that would someday be enough for me. Maybe I'd even start to appreciate my bandmates as people instead of just tools for success, so that when I had my "Paula" moment, I'd actually be able to connect with someone.

Actually… No. That wouldn't have ever happened.

I couldn't connect with people. The only person I'd ever trusted was my brother, and my memories of him were soiled with a sewer-full of half-repressed trauma.

I'd decided that I wouldn't even try to connect with people anymore. Never again. This would be enough – me, my island, endless time to think until I died, and a basement full of tequila. It wouldn't be perfect. I'd still be tormented from time to time by that raging voice that told me I needed to do more, to be more, to not stop until the world was under my heel because after all I'd been forced to endure I deserved success – but the worst of my demons were in my past now, and I was finally free to think and breathe.

Or so I thought.

. . .

If you'd told my younger self that someday I'd be one of those ninnies who took walks on the beach to look at all the pretty seashells, I would've socked you in the gut. But now… well… pathetically enough, it was the highlight of my day.

Mind you, I wasn't just scavenging for seashells. My interests were much more sophisticated. I liked to see all the weird knick-knacks and gadgets that would turn up in the slough of garbage heaped against the shore. I'd made a couple of neat finds – an antique license plate, a bobblehead Vladmir Putin, and a toaster designed to brand the saintly face of good ol' Bob Ross into your bread.

This particular day, I was quite eager to make my morning romp. Various parts of a Stylo had been washing up on the shore for days; I had a hunch that the whole bloody car was lodged somewhere just beneath the waterline. If I'd had an ounce of mechanical skill, I would've aspired to re-assemble the vehicle. Be that as it may, I was nevertheless excited by the prospect of having a heap of waterlogged Stylo parts to show off in my foyer.

I trotted briskly down to the shoreline, pellets of plastic debris crunching beneath my sandals. There was an object in the distance, something blocky and dark. A chest of sorts. I grinned, wondering what kind of goodies might be inside – pirate treasure would be nice, but realistically, a couple pairs of ladies' knickers would be enough to entertain me. Fingers twitching, I strode toward the shape eagerly –

And it moved.

A quick jolt, like a hop… It was almost as if something were trying to get out!

What the hell!?

I didn't waste much time dawdling in surprise – this was easily the most interesting thing that'd happened in months, and, quite frankly, I was starved for some excitement.

The shape – a suitcase! – gave another great jolt. I rushed forward, falling eagerly next to the case and flicking open the clasps holding it shut. It flew open with a BANG as the trapped creature kicked madly at the top, a foot and a long leg flashing briefly into view before collapsing back into the lower half of the cramped enclosure. I could hear it gasping…

I peered inside, and my heart nearly stopped.

A familiar face stared back at me with frightened, black eyes.

"Dullard?"

. . .

"No!" He kicked and squirmed. "I don't want to be here!"

"Unfortunately, neither of us have a say in the matter." I continued to drag the squealing man by his collar towards the lift. Physically, it was an easy task; 2D had lost weight during his time in transit and was barely more than a skin-covered skeleton. Psychologically, however, I was reeling, because I'd never thought I'd see him again, let alone like this, high on those sodding green pills which had lined his suitcase. I'd hoped he'd keep his distance after sobering up; clearly, he'd tried. But there's only so much you can do when you're a puppet in a drug gang's hands.

They'd left a note. It had been nestled amongst the pills in the suitcase and was now wadded up in my pocket. It was short and simple and made me want to kick something:

We made a deal, Murdoc.

The Suppliers weren't going to drop our arrangement any time soon.

The lift dinged. I shoved 2D into the sparse room at the bottom of the island. He whined in protest and pain, flopping clumsily onto the floor. He laid there shaking as the lift closed, shielding him from view.

I leaned back against the shaft as it rose, feeling my head swim, feeling the voice gargling through my whirlpool of thoughts, not as loud as it once was, but cutting nonetheless. "You shouldn't have tried to escape your destiny!" it heckled. "Your soul is mine, and your future is mine too! I will always guide your path back to the THEM!"

I resisted the urge to tell the voice to shut up – acknowledging it never helped. Instead, I took a deep breath and tried to think.

The Suppliers were going to hold me to my deal – that much was clear.

They'd probably only recently figured out my location, otherwise they would've shipped 2D my way ages ago.

Now that they'd found me, they'd be keeping an eye on me. I hadn't seen them, but that didn't mean they weren't watching. For all I knew, they might've hacked into the island's camera system.

So… What now?

Ping! The doors opened and I strode across the top room, plucking a bottle of liquor from the dusty floor, leaning over the balcony and glaring over the toxic shore. The pill-stuffed suitcase was still out there, tucked within the plastic debris. I knew I ought to bring the pills inside so that the Suppliers would know I was tending to 2D, holding up my end of the deal…

I took a swig of liquor, feeling it burn in my chest like anger. I realized that I didn't want to take the pills inside.

Those pills – those blasted, sodding pills – were a symbol of the control the Suppliers had over me. It was ironic, seeing as how they were supposed to give me control over 'D. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I had never really been in control of Gorillaz – yeah, I'd gotten to stride onstage and call myself "leader" and tell my bandmates what to do, but the Suppliers had always been watching from the sidelines, making me stay on the perfect little track they'd made.

I was done. I knew I'd have hell to pay for it, but I wouldn't be a puppet anymore.

I'd bring the pills inside – best to let the Suppliers think they'd won – but then I'd flush them all, every last one.

. . .

I didn't want to think about 2D withdrawing on the lower floors of Plastic Beach, but I also really didn't want to think about the Suppliers, and 2D was a very effective distraction. Besides, I knew the addled singer could use a watchful eye – until his condition improved, he was a danger to himself.

"WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME DO THIS? I want my pills! Just give me my pills!" I monitored him through the island's cameras, watched his fingers weave desperately through his hair, watched him rock back and forth on the mattress in the corner of the room. He cringed as the shrill cry of a whale sounded. "P-please give me my pills! I promise I'll be good! I'll write s-songs, and sing, and d-do whatever you want!"

I'd never liked 2D. He was a prick when I met him and an annoyance when he woke from his coma. I thought I'd gone past the point of being able to feel things like horror for the sake of another person, let alone for him, but I couldn't help the sick feeling I got while watching him squirm and scream like a scared child, and I found myself dreading each trip I had to make to deliver him food.

. . .

It took just over a week for things to change. 2D cried less, slept more. He whimpered whenever he woke, pressing his hands to his skull, but then he'd look around the room with eyes that seemed sharper, more aware, than they'd been the day before.

One morning, he slid off the bed, onto his feet. He didn't sway like he usually did; his dark gaze didn't waver. He looked directly into the camera.

"Murdoc. Are you watching me?"

I frowned.

Although he couldn't have seen my expression, he scowled right back through the camera. "Let me out of this room, Murdoc. I want to know what's going on!"

. . .

The moment I entered the room, he tried to tackle me to the ground. He wasn't particularly strong, and it was easy to shove him across the floor, forcing him to topple back onto his bed. He raised one hand to his head with a hiss, gritting his teeth with pain.

I stood silently in his doorway, waiting for him to start.

He tensed, his dark eyes and ruffled hair making him look like a cornered rat. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I didn't," I replied bluntly.

"Then why am I here?" He spat. He was putting on a show of being angry, but I could tell from his growing tremble that he was more scared than he wanted to admit. I knew the feeling.

"Have you figured out anything about the origin of the pills you've been taking?" I asked.

"WHY AM I HERE?"

I'll take that as a no... I sighed. I had a lot of explaining to do.

. . .

I told 2D about my bargain with the Suppliers, and about how I'd decided to abandon my end of our deal, not expecting the Suppliers to care enough to track me to Plastic Beach. I didn't say anything about murdering my father, or the revelation I'd had when I'd nearly attacked Noodle, or the voices in my head which made me wish I could toss my brain into the ocean.

"So I'm here because these Suppliers won't let me stop taking their drugs?"

"Correct."

2D's tense posture had eased through the course of my explanation, but his scowl was as deep and mistrustful as ever. His stare was piercing; I felt like he was trying to read me as his gaze flickered between my eyes. "And I'm supposed to believe you let me withdraw just because you got bored of your deal?"

I shrugged. "Believe what you like. I don't care."

Something about his gaze gave me chills. "There's more to it than that," he insisted. His hands balled into fists. "I deserve to know why I'm here, Murdoc! Tell me the rest!"

I reached into my pocket to pull out a cigarette.

2D flinched at the moment of my hand, his strong fa?ade cracking instantly. His reaction reminded me of the way I used to jump whenever my father reached for his beer, of the fear I would feel, the paralyzing tension –

"Murdoc?"

I glanced sharply up at 2D, unsettled by his change in tone. His eyes were wide. "Muds, what were you thinking about just now?"

I grimaced sourly, feeling unsettled as the singer's eyes scanned me like x-ray machines. Ignoring his question, I turned to leave the room. "I won't lock your door, but do yourself a favor and don't go outside. The Suppliers will be keeping an eye on us, and we don't want them knowing I've let you off your pills."

. . .

With 2D sobered up and no longer stupid enough to accidentally hurt himself, I was freed from my self-inflicted guard duty. Thus, I was able do devote myself more fully to the mission of figuring out how the hell I was going to keep the Suppliers from finding out about my noncompliance and storming my island. The task was easier set than done.

I grumbled, downing another shot of rum before glaring at the scraps of notepaper littering the floor around me. I was brainstorming solutions for our predicament the same way I brainstormed new songs – lying on my belly with lots of alcohol, minimal clothing, a notebook to my left and a box of cigs to my right. I reached to pull one of the pages I'd torn out closer to me, scowling when I saw that rather than holding a helpful idea, the note merely replayed my frustrated venting.

I heard footsteps. 2D shuffled into the room, both hands wrapped around his head, a small moan in his throat. He was in pain – his headaches had been bothering him ever since his withdrawal. He'd found the island's first aid kit earlier that week and I had a feeling he'd already blown through all the ibuprofen. Now, he had to think of more creative ways to relieve his pain.

The singer stumbled blindly past me before collapsing against the liquor cabinet, indiscriminately pulling bottles off the shelves. I scowled – even I wouldn't drink that much at once. Not that I'd tell him that – I had a reputation to uphold. "Make sure you don't grab anything expensive, Faceache."

He jumped, sending three bottles toppling heavily to the floor – one of them shattered at his feet.

I slapped a hand to my face. I should've just let him think I wasn't there. 2D was still standing still, stiff as a statue, his gaze wary. It felt as if he were waiting for me to start shouting at him. Not an unrealistic expectation, considering our history. But lately, I hadn't been feeling up to it. "Just take the alcohol and leave, Dullard." I looked back down at my notes, determined to ignore the singer until he left the room, just like I'd been ignoring him all week –

"Don't call me that."

I glanced up. "What?"

2D glared down at me, his eyes narrowing. "'Dullard' and 'Faceache.' Don't call me that."

Geez, I'm trying my best to ignore him, but he's just determined to stir up trouble! "Got any more requests, Princess?"

He lunged forward.

I heard more bottles smashing against the ground as I rolled out of the way of his fist. Soon he was on the ground too, a mixed expression of pain and fury marring his face. "IT'S YOUR FAULT THAT I'VE GOT HEADACHES ALL THE TIME!" He screamed as he tried to strike me. "THIS WHOLE SITUATION STARTED WITH YOU, AND THE LEAST YOU CAN DO TO MAKE THIS BEARABLE IS STOP CALLING ME DULLARD!"

I caught a fist aimed for my nose while trying to pin him down with my other hand. It wasn't easy; pent-up rage had given 2D ferocity to make up for his lack of strength. I felt my own anger rising. "You think I want to be stuck on an island with you, Dullard? I never wanted to SEE you again, let alone call you sodding NICKNAMES!"

"Maybe you should have thought of that before letting a DRUG GANG rule our lives!" His fists, knees, and elbows were all lashing with rage, landing more hits than I could block.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm TRYING to think of a way to get the druggies off our case!" I hovered over him, pinning his limbs, suppressing his relentless attack. "Maybe if you'd stop being a nuisance, I could make some PROGRESS!"

"Well EXCUSE ME for not TRUSTING YOU!"

I thwacked him in the head. With a scream, he shoved me away, sent me rolling across the floor –

"AUGH!" I felt the broken shards of glass between my bare back and the floor. I could feel them slicing, piercing, bleeding, and the alcohol was burning!

Hissing with pain, I rolled myself away from the mess of broken glass, crouching on my hands and knees. 2D was whimpering a short distance away, reeling from the blow I'd dealt to his already-sore head. I could feel blood trickling down my back, and I could smell the heady aroma of liquor. I tried to stand, felt the world sway around me, and fell back to the ground.

Everything was hazy… Maybe I'd take a short rest before tending those wounds…

. . .

I woke with a groan. Everything smelled of alcohol. I recognized the pale ceiling above me; I was still in the room where I'd been planning, where I'd fought 'D. I reached back to feel my injuries, and was surprised to find a thick swath of bandages.

I froze when I spotted 2D lying a short distance away, one of my cigs between his fingers, his free hand toying with the notes I'd left on the floor. I wasn't sure if he'd noticed I was awake or not. Judging by the empty bottles next to him and the way he no longer seemed to be feeling a headache, he wasn't entirely sober. I also noticed an open first aid kit nearby, a few messy bandages littering the floor around it.

"Muds, your ideas suck."

I turned back to him sharply. 2D hadn't raised his eyes from the notes. His fingers brushed over the nearest one to him and he scowled. "'Train the whale to attack the Suppliers?' 'Get a submarine and live underwater?' 'Build killer robot to take out my enemies?'"

I rolled onto my elbows, maintaining a casual expression – if he wasn't going to acknowledge the fight we'd just had, neither would I. "Got any better ideas, Dul –" I coughed. Something about the feeling of the bandages on my back and the wounds beneath them made me want to think of a more polite ending to my sentence. "eh, 'D?"

He took another drag of the cigarette, his glazed eyes closing for a moment. "'guess the robot one isn't too bad," he slurred tipsily. "Robots are cool… maybe we could train it to clean up broken glass and alcohol. It'd be helpful right about now."

I grabbed a nearby bottle, took a gulp, and dragged myself forward. "It might be easier to just train the whale. I don't know where we'd get a robot from."

2D grimaced. "Then figure out where we can get a robot from. I'm not teaming up with a sodding whale."

. . .

The atmosphere at Plastic Beach shifted after our fight. We'd reached a sort of truce, one where we still hated each other's guts but didn't go out of our ways to show it.

We didn't talk much – not vocally, anyway. Sometimes, I'd go to the "idea room" to find that he'd added notes to the array on the floor. Sometimes he'd even venture into the room when I was there and drop a few notes. As much as I didn't like him, I knew we'd figure out a solution to this mess sooner if we worked together.

Speaking of working together…

"We should contact Noodle and Russ. They're smart, they'd have good ideas." 2D's note fluttered to the floor a few inches from me. The singer's shadow didn't stir as he stood motionlessly, waiting. I scrawled a short message at the bottom of his note.

"Do you really want to drag them into this?"

I heard his pen scratch against paper, heard his weight shift as he crouched low to the floor, placing a new note next to the former. "They'd want to help."

I scowled at the note. 2D was probably right; those fools would want to help. They wouldn't stop to consider the fact that these Suppliers could actually kill them, they'd just jump right in for the sake of friendship or some nonsense like that. There had once been a time when I wouldn't care, when I'd let them partake in whatever heroic acts of idiocy they pleased as long as it benefitted me, but now…

I'd promised myself I wouldn't drag anyone else into my mess after the night I almost attacked Noodle. She and Russ shouldn't have to deal with my trauma, with the consequences of my actions. It was best to quarantine the repercussions of my actions to me and 'D.

"Murdoc, what aren't you telling me?"

I met 2D's gaze unwaveringly. "Nothing you need to know."

His eyes flickered between mine, the corners of his mouth turning down. "How am I supposed to help fix this mess if you're not honest with me?"

"I didn't ask for your help," I growled, averting my gaze. I hated when he spoke as if he could see through every barrier I'd raised to block out the dark memories in my head.

I could feel the tension in the room mounting, see his hands forming fists against the ground. "I deserve to know everything about what's going on, Murdoc!"

"Shut up!" A note crumpled between my fingers. I hadn't thought about that guidance counselor from school in years, but with 2D being so pushy, trying to drag answers out of me –

"You owe me, Murdoc!"

Then I wasn't thinking about the counselor anymore.

You owe me. My father had said that, in the alleyway. He'd convinced himself that he had some sort of claim over me when he'd saved me from my brother's attack. He'd convinced himself that using me for his own gain was fair. He'd convinced himself that if I refused to be used, I didn't deserve to survive…

Leering down at me, knife held high, alcohol rolling off his breath –

"Muds!"

2D's eyes were level with mine. The anger had disappeared from his face, replaced by surprise.

I shoved him away. I was hyperventilating – how long had I been hyperventilating? How long had I been shaking? I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead, gritting my teeth, willing the strained whine of my breaths to stop.

"Muds, what –"

"Get out," I groaned. I felt ill; I just wanted him to leave me alone!

His brow furrowed – I felt frustrated when I saw the concern on his face. Why couldn't he just keep being angry at me and pretend not to have seen my emotional slip? "Muds, I know we're not mates, but if something's bothering you that much –"

"GET OUT!"

. . .

The next time 2D joined me in the idea room, I crushed the pen in my hand, waiting for him to ask more questions. But he just gave me a long look and started adding more notes.

He didn't ask about my episode after that.

. . .

"Is the robot idea really the best one we have?"

I shrugged tiredly, rubbing my eyes. "If it works, it'll buy us time when the Suppliers come after us."

2D plucked a sheet of notes off the floor. "How'd you even find this robot-construction company?"

"I know my way around the dark web," I grumbled. "They're as sketchy as they come, but they say they've got the resources to build a 'bot as long as we send them a blueprint."

Slowly, 2D nodded. "So we have to draw up a design?"

My stomach churned. "Er… Not that sort of blueprint." This was the part where things got uncomfortable. "They build from references of real people. DNA coupled with some videos of them in action."

2D's eyebrow quirked. "Like a copy of somebody?" He picked up a bottle from the ground and took a sip. "Who'd you have in mind?"

"Well, Noodle's pretty good with weapons, isn't she?"

2D choked on his liquor. "Noodle? You want these people to make a robot Noodle?" He pressed a hand to his paling face. "That's messed up!"

"Well, robots of us wouldn't be any help!" I swept my hand towards the empty glass bottles littering the floor. "All they'd do is make the alcohol disappear faster! If we want something that can fight, we should model it after her!"

2D buried his face in his hands, groaning... It looked as if another headache was coming on. "I think I need some air." He stood unsteadily, grabbing a pack of cigs from the floor, and lurched out to the balcony.

I grabbed the nearest half-full bottle and drained it, slamming the empty container back to the ground with a thunk.

I didn't like this plan any more than 'D did, but we would need Noodle's skills if we ended up confronting the Suppliers, and I still refused to bring the real Noodle to this island, to this mess.

Light rain pattered outside – wasn't that blue-haired idiot going to come in? Part of me didn't want to bother with him, but I knew that 2D would be a pain to deal with if he caught a cold. Grumbling, I rose to my feet and sidled to the balcony.

2D leaned over the railing, his head wilting past the roof so that rain soaked heavily into his hair. The matted, wet locks were clasped tightly under the singer's long, pale fingers. One free hand clenched an unlit cigarette. I rolled my eyes at the dramatic pose. "D, get back in here. I'm not letting your wet arse soak out here while you catch a cold."

He frowned, glaring down at his unlit cigarette. "Did you bring a lighter? I forgot mine."

"Idiot…" I muttered under my breath, but dug my lighter out of my pocket, flicking the flame on. "Here."

"Thanks." He lit his cig and stuck it between his teeth before digging a second out the pack, holding it up to me. "Here."

My gut curled. Not many people had shared cigs with me since I was young, since the hours I spent with my brother on his good days…

No. I wasn't going to think about him. I took the cig from 2D's hand and pretended not to notice the piercing look he'd fixed on me when my mind had wandered towards Hannibal. Was 2D some sort of mindreader? He freaked the hell out of me sometimes. "Thanks."

He sucked in a deep breath of smoke, pulling his head back under the roof to keep the cig from getting damp – maybe I'd prevent him from catching a cold after all. "Muds…" He toyed with the cigarette in his hands, leveling his gaze over the writhing ocean. "How long is this gonna go on? This trouble with the Suppliers… If I want to stay away from them, am I going to have to hide out on this island forever?"

I shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe they'll get tired of us after a while. We could always try faking our deaths."

His face tipped down, causing the shadows beneath his eyes to grow. "If they're still following us after all these years, I don't think they'll let up." His figure hunched. "I hate this. I hate being cut off from everyone. I miss so many people…" He snorted. "You're not exactly my first pick for someone I'd want to be trapped on a desert island with."

"Same here," I grumbled. "All I wanted was to be alone."

2D cast me a sideways look. "Don't you miss anyone? Noodle or Russ? Your parents?"

I crushed the cigarette in my fingers. "No." A few moments passed, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I passed 2D an ill-tempered glare. "Would you quit staring at me like that?"

He turned away. Another inhale of the cig, another breath of curling smoke. He leaned heavily against the railing with a tired sigh. "Muds… can I trust you not to use me as a human shield if the Suppliers start shooting at us?"

I raised an eyebrow. "What kinda question is that?"

He bit his lip, hesitating, running the fingers of his free hand back and forth through his hair. "You're hiding things from me. Things about how you got involved with the Suppliers. I know you are." The muscles in my shoulders tensed defensively, and 2D huffed. "I'm not going to waste any more time asking what your hiding; I've figured out by now that you're not going to tell. But I need to at least know that you mean to keep both of us safe from the Suppliers." He fixed his eyes on mine seriously. "Where are we now, Muds? You let me withdraw, and you haven't been acting like a complete bastard. Does that mean you actually want to help me? Or is it just the easiest way to put up with me until you can abuse me for your own gain again?"

"This has never been about helping you," I growled, not meeting his eyes as I took a long drag of my cigarette. "I didn't want you to be here. But I'm not going to sell your life back to the Suppliers, if that's what you're asking. I'm done with them. I just want to get us both off their radar so that they won't mess with my band anymore."

2D leaned forward insistently. "So you wouldn't throw me back to them if they gave you a nice offer?"

I growled. "What do you want me to do? Write up a pact, sign it in blood, and get it notarized?"

"I just want you to look me in the eye and tell me I can trust you."

He was doing that stare again, the ultra-unsettling, seeing-through-your-soul stare. I matched his stare with my own. I almost started shouting about how pushy and ridiculous he was being, but I noticed the slight tremble in his hand, and I realized that 2D had every reason to be afraid, trapped on an island with someone who' ruined his life while hiding away from the gang that had also contributed to ruining his life.

I knew what it felt like to live with fear and uncertainty.

Taking a deep breath, I let the tension leave my shoulders. "You can trust me on this, 'D."

His eyes flickered between mine, slowly, carefully. He nodded and looked away. "Alright."

Most of the tension in the air lifted, but I could feel something heavy, like a congealed mass of mud in my stomach. "'D?"

"Yeah?"

I fiddled uncomfortably with the crushed cigarette in my fingers, cursing at myself as I wondered if I was really about to broach this subject. "I appreciate that you're not planning on asking more questions about how I got mixed up with the Suppliers. It's not something I plan on discussing in any detail. But for the sake of being clear…" I felt like my jaw was locking. 2D was reaching out, a fresh cig in his hand. I accepted it, lit up, and took a deep drag. "They… the Suppliers… got me out of a tough situation. I got into a bad fight with a family member, and they helped me clean it up. They offered me a way to succeed when life was hard. And when I didn't want their help anymore, they had blackmail material to tie me down." I flicked the ash of the end of my cig. "I want to be rid of them. I'm tired of having them pulling the strings in my life."

2D's gaze wasn't as intense as it had been earlier. It was like the waves and the seagulls – overwhelming at first, but gradually becoming regular, calming. "Alright, Muds. I suppose I can understand having parts of your life you don't want to think about, let alone talk about." He chuckled humorlessly. "I can't imagine telling my parents about anything that's happened to me since I joined the band. I suppose I can trust you well enough from what you've told me."

"Good."

It was strange… I'd thought that bringing up the past, even vaguely, would make me feel revoltingly uncomfortable, but all I felt now was a sense of gentle calm.

. . .

We went through with ordering the robot – That's when I learned that 2D was a full-blown mechanic! That would've been bloody helpful to know when the lift broke down!

I wondered if he'd help me rebuild that washed-up Stylo when we finished Cyborg Noodle…

It was weird, building a friggin' robot with someone I'd once considered to be one of my least favorite people on earth. The weirdest part was that at times, 2D's company almost felt nice. Maybe it was the isolation getting to me, but if I didn't have such a botched-up mistrust complex, I might have started to think of him as a friend.

Satan help me, I was getting soft!

After completing Cyborg Noodle, we went back to look over our notes and see if any of our other ideas would improve our situation. 2D commented that some of my "venting" notes seemed more like song lyrics than actual ideas. The next thing I knew, we'd decided that writing an album would be a good way to trick the Suppliers into thinking things had gone back to normal.

The next few months of recording music were almost fun. 2D got a bit of a crap deal – he had to act drugged for all our interviews and music videos – but he smiled more when he had music to occupy his mind. Sometimes, he would smile even when he knew I was in the room, ready to make some jibe at his overinflated enthusiasm.

As much as I enjoyed being a cocky blighter, it felt nice to be on not-so-terrible terms with the person I had to spend most of my time with.

I should've realized it wouldn't last much longer. I was never allowed to enjoy life for long.

. . .

CRASH!

I gasped, feeling my stomach swoop as the balcony cracked beneath my feet –

"MUDS!"

There was a hand on the back of my shirt, yanking me back into the building, away from the fighter jet which swooped swiftly past the fresh hole in the structure. I fell backwards over 2D, noticing the small swarm of planes in the sky outside with a sinking stomach.

I could feel 2D's muscles tense. "Is that them?" His voice quavered, laced with growing fear. "Are those people in the planes the Suppliers?"

"Probably hired by the Suppliers." I grimaced, noting the logo of a local pirate band on the plane's side. The Suppliers had allies – this wasn't good.

With an ear-shattering BANG, Cyborg Noodle stormed into the room, guns at the ready. It wasn't long before the planes where coasting out to put a greater distance between their volatile engines and the synthetic teen's bullets.

"What now?" 2D asked.

"If the Suppliers are bringing the fight here, then they know you're sober. They tracked me here; I don't think there's anywhere in the world they wouldn't be able to track us to, so running away wouldn't end well." I felt a mixture of fear and excitement welling inside me. "Our best bet is to show them that pursuing us will do them more harm than good. We've got to fight them, and do as much damage as possible."

2D's face was pale, his fingers were twitching, but he was nodding with as much confidence as he could muster. "Right then. I'd better go see if the Cyborg needs and repairs… We'll want to be ready when they come back."

. . .

The Supplier's pirate allies sieged Plastic Beach again the next day. And the next day. And the next day.

Cyborg Noodle, like the teen she'd been designed after, was fierce and skilled. While 'D and I watched from a safe porthole at the structure's core, Cyborg would stand tall on the balcony, guns drawn, eyes gleaming with an ethereal electric glow. She'd fire round after round with mechanical speed, spreading fifty bullets for every single shot the pirate jets fired. It was quite awe-inspiring, if you ask me.

Unfortunately, she wasn't indestructible.

As soon as the pirates flew away, 2D and I (mostly 2D) would remove any projectiles or shrapnel lodged in her machinery and patch her up as best as we could. 2D was brilliant with mechanics, but as the cyborg's parts continued to wear out and her motherboard sustained more and more damage, he struggled to keep her in working order. By the end of the second week of attacks, she'd developed no less than seven glitches, ranging from a mild eye twitch to a compulsion to shoot whenever she heard the words "ocean" or "bacon."

Our battles were taking their toll on the pirates as well – the Cyborg had dealt more damage than she'd received and I knew I'd seen a few planes crash, burning, into the waves. But they kept coming back with more numbers and repaired jets. I wasn't sure how long we could hold our ground.

. . .

"'D, they're coming back! Is the Cyborg ready?"

2D was soldering wires inside the cyborg's open skull at a manic pace, barely pausing to wipe the sweat from his hairline before leaning further over the sparking device. "She's bad, Muds! That last shot severed a ton of important processing connections – if we reactivate her now, she might start shooting at us!"

BOOM!

The building shook as a volley of shots rattled the walls.

I grit my teeth in frustration. "If she doesn't shoot us, they will! We've got to send her out, to hell with the risks!"

2D bit his lip, his fingers twitching around the soldering iron. "Right… I'll get her started up." He closed the Cyborg's skull. Her eyes instantly began to glow green. A trickle of oil crept down the corner of her mouth as she stood and marched toward the balcony.

I let out a breath. "See? She's fine –"

The moment my voice lit the air she turned, teeth bared, pointing a tommy gun at my face. 2D knocked me to the floor a moment before her bullets flew through the air. With a shrill mechanical cry, Cyborg dashed outside, shooting madly in all directions.

I groaned – this wasn't good.

2D crawled to the window, raising his head cautiously to peer outside.

"Well, she's still doing a pretty good job keeping the planes at bay…" His eyes narrowed. "And the sub. There's a sub out there now."

"A sub?" I joined him at the window, beholding the top of a steel-clad submarine emerging from the waves. There were people climbing out onto the top deck, people with hard faces and sunglasses… The Suppliers.

2D was shaking.

I clenched my hands into fists. "We need to barricade the door."

"I'm afraid it's a little too late for that."

I spun to face the other side of the room.

A small crowd had crept silently to the entrance. Some wore dark sunglasses while others shamelessly appraised us with their cold eyes. Stepping forward at the head of the group was a woman I'd seen before, the older Supplier who'd called herself the Boss.

"What – how –"

"We have a submarine, Mr. Niccals. We breached your fortress through one of the portholes downstairs."

My heart was pumping wildly. I didn't know what to do.

Beside me, 2D shivered violently. "You're the Suppliers, aren't you?" He stammered. "You're the ones who made my pills."

The Boss nodded. "You're our favorite patient, Mr. Pot. Having a celebrity endorsement has helped my business grow immensely."

The fear on 2D's face evolved suddenly into an expression of unbalanced fury. "You…" I was sure he was looking for the ugliest insult he could think of, but none of the insults in his brain were quite potent enough. His eyes blanched white, almost glowing. "Why won't you leave me alone? You've had your fun with me; you've had your sodding success! Just LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The Boss's apathetic expression didn't waver. "I have nothing to gain from leaving you alone."

Another change of expression, another mood swing… 2D was on the verge of tears.

I stepped forward, squaring my shoulders. "Listen, you sketchy wankers!" I bared my pointed teeth. "You haven't got an ally in my band anymore! Without my help, you won't be able to keep him on those pills! Our deal is over, so sod off!"

The boss looked faintly amused. "I'll admit, Mr. Niccals, that I'm impressed by the resolve you've shown these past months. I haven't seen you act with this much spine since you murdered your father."

I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me… Dammit, this was not a good time to tell 'D about the incident!

"I'm sure you recall what we can do if you break our deal, Murdoc. I don't think the world would be so forgiving if they knew of the blood on your hands."

I breathed in slowly, struggling to feign calm. "I don't care. Let the whole bloody press know what I've done. It was all self-defense, and I can afford a lawyer who'll make people believe it."

"Murdoc…"

"Not now, 2D!" I grit my teeth against the burning in my chest.

"But Muds –"

"I'll explain what happened later!"

"Muds, look!"

Confused, I turned to 2D. He didn't look horrified at what the Suppliers had revealed. Hell, he wasn't even looking at me. He was gazing out the window, eyes gleaming, watching the waves as a huge, hulking something emerged from the waters. It took me a moment to figure out what it was, and another moment to believe what I was seeing…

"That's… that's Russel!" 2D gasped.

Indeed, it was our humble drummer, looking slightly less humble than usual due to the fact that he was the size of a four-story building!

"And Noodle! Noodle's up there, on his head!" 2D was practically bouncing with excitement.

"So your friends have decided to join us," the Boss said tonelessly.

A fierce grin of triumph crossed 2D's face. "Yeah, and they've got the strength to sink your submarine to the bottom of the ocean!" His tall figure straightened. "You're not going to win this fight, not now that Noodle and Russ are here!"

That amused look was back on the Boss's face. "If you're suggesting that your two friends can defeat all of my allies, then I can't say I trust your calculations."

2D just kept grinning. "You have no idea what we can accomplish together! Right, Muds?"

I gazed out the window, watching my two bandmates approach. They were still a ways off, but it wouldn't be long before they were noticed by the pirate jets, before they entered the fight.

"Muds?"

There was a cold, constricting feeling in my chest.

"Muds, what's wrong?"

"Well, Mr. Pot…" A hint of smugness laced the Boss' resonant voice. "I believe your friend has doubts regarding your chances of success."

I felt a long fingers fall on my shoulder. "Muds?"

As I stared out the window at the approaching drummer and guitarist, I found myself flashing back to Noodle's early days in the band. She'd been so quiet at first, with the repressed memories of her upbringing steering her into silence. I remembered when she'd come back from Japan to tell us what she had discovered about her past, about being raised in a compound for child soldiers, trained to fight, tested against other children. Even though I'd been cross with her for taking a large portion of the credit for Demon Days, I'd been decent enough to feel some sympathy, and to be glad that she was in my band instead of being forced to fight somewhere.

The reality of our current situation hit me like a deadweight to the chest, almost knocking the breath out of me. Because of me, Noodle was being pulled back into a battleground. The Suppliers and their allies could hurt her – they could kill her! As much as I'd always told myself that I didn't care for my bandmates beyond their practical use for building my fame, I finally realized that I'd let myself care too much.

I wasn't willing to let her – or Russel – die because of my mistakes.

The Boss's murmur pierced my concentration. "This could all end very quickly, Mr. Niccals. If you simply agree to make Mr. Pot take his pills again, I can call off my allies in an instant, and no one in your band will die."

2D huffed a humorless chuckle. "You really think, after everything you've put us through, everything we've done to fight you, we'll just roll over and let you win? Muds and I have been planning out how we'd get you out of our lives for months! Noodle and Russ are here because, even though they don't know exactly what's going, they want to help us! We're not backing down!"

"And what does Mr. Niccals have to say on the matter?"

The hand on my shoulder gave me a light shake. "Tell them, Muds!"

Feeling a chill creep through my blood, I turned away from the window to meet 2D's gaze. He looked so confident that you'd think he had an army supporting him – but that confident look didn't last long. The moment he saw my eyes, he paled. "Muds?"

I almost turned away from him. I almost decided to ignore him in favor of giving my answer directly to the Suppliers – but after everything we'd been through the past few months, every foothold we'd struggled to reach, I felt an urgent compulsion to make him understand. "'D… The Suppliers and their allies outnumber us twenty to one."

"So did the zombies at Kong!" He was trying to keep that confident tone in his voice, trying to use his own enthusiasm to make me hopeful. "We're the Gorillaz! We deal with impossible stuff all the time, and we always come out okay!"

"Can't you see this isn't the same?" My hands fisted in frustration. "They've got planes full of explosives hanging above us! Any one of those lot could pull out a gun and shoot us in the head right now!"

"We'll find a way to win!"

"WE WON'T!" I screamed bleakly. "I don't know what sort of fairy flew into your head and told you the world was full of happy endings, but I've been fighting uphill battles my whole life, and the only times I ever succeeded where when I was on the Supplier's side!" I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "No matter what we decide now, we'll lose, but if we surrender, we'll at least stay alive! They'll stay alive!" I gestured aggressively towards our approaching bandmates, who had by now gotten the attention of a few pirate jets.

Like a switch flicking, the hope dimmed in 2D's eyes, replaced by something vitriolic. "Do you think they came all the way out here just to watch us give up?" He bared his teeth angrily as the mood swing took over. "They came here to fight with us, Murdoc! They want to help us! The only coward in Gorillaz who wants to give up is YOU!"

Because I'm the only one of us who really understands what the Suppliers can do. I took in the enraged look on 2D's face. 2D is too blinded by his own fears of being back on the pills to really think about how he'd feel if the Suppliers killed Russ and Noodle. "I'm sorry, 'D."

He leaped at me.

It was like the fight we'd had just after his withdrawal, rolling on the ground, acknowledging each other's rage – this time, however, the fighting wouldn't bring us closure.

"YOU SAID YOU WOULD HELP ME! YOU SAID I COULD TRUST YOU!"

I tried to shove the wild singer off me. "We can't win, 2D! I didn't want this to happen, but we just can't win this!"

The Suppliers converged. I saw their hands appear all over 2D, dragging him off me as he screeched with fury. "I TRUSTED YOU, MURDOC!"

I didn't think I'd ever felt hurt at the loss of someone's trust before. 2D's screams burned in my ears.

The hairs on my neck stood up. The Boss was standing next to me, her small figure more intimidating than I could comprehend. "Mr. Pot isn't going to take his pills willingly, not until his addiction is re-triggered by his next dose." She gestured for one of her lackeys to bring forward a dark satchel. "Fortunately, we've developed an injectable version of the medicine." She pulled a syringe from the bag, holding it out for me to accept. "Show me that you're willing to hold up your end of the deal, and I'll call off the pirates."

I shuddered at the sight of the syringe full of poisonous-looking, dark green fluid. My hand felt numb as I took the item from the boss and turned to face 2D.

He'd stopped shouting. The Suppliers held him tightly. They forced him to his knees, arms trapped behind his back, a fist in his hair forcing his face up to meet mine. He was baring his teeth angrily, but the moment he saw the syringe in my hand, that anger disappeared like smoke in a breeze.

I felt sick as his face morphed into pure fear.

"M-murdoc… Please d-don't do this…"

My mouth hung slightly open. I wanted to tell him I was sorry again, but I couldn't bring myself to make a sound.

He shook so hard, you'd think his heart was having an earthquake. "W-we're m-mates, Muds! We're f-fighting them together! I kn-know you don't w-want to go back to their side! P-please, Muds, p-put the m-medicine down!"

I stepped forward. 2D cringed in fear, but the Suppliers refused to let him move away. Tear tracks bled down his face.

"Muds, s-stop…"

I kneeled in front of him. The Supplier's hand in 2D's hair tightened. 2D whimpered as his head was forced back, exposing his curving neck – that was where they intended for me to inject the stuff. I braced one hand on his shoulder and leaned forward, bringing the syringe to his neck.

"Please stop…"

I managed to force out a whisper. "I'm sorry, 'D."

"Muds…"

I pressed the syringe into his neck and pushed the plunger down.

. . .

"Murdoc! Murdoc, wake up!"

I groaned as the angry voice jarred my fuzzy mind to life. My brain was cradled in the claws or a massive hangover. I was lying across tile, I could tell that much, but the rest of my sensory was lost to the dizzy swirl of alcohol.

My nausea spiked when a hand slapped my cheek lightly. "Look at me, Murdoc!"

I thought I heard Noodle, but when I opened my eyes, all I saw was a mask hovering over me. A flash of confusion struck my aching head – What was Noodle doing on Plastic Beach?

That's when I remembered why I'd been drinking.

I remembered the appearance of the Suppliers, then the appearance or Noodle and Russel in the distance. I remembered 2D begging me not to force him back onto his old meds. I remembered the sick feeling in my gut as the Boss congratulated me on a "good decision" before calling off her allies and leaving, depositing a large crate of meds and dispensing some last-minute instructions before she left. "Make sure he takes double his usual dose for a while. That should ensure that he forgets what happened here."

"Murdoc, what happened here?" The mask-with-Noodle's-voice asked.

"Attacked by pirates," I groaned.

"Where is 2D?"

They'd dragged 2D off somewhere, hadn't they? Yes… "Couple floors down, in his room."

The masked Noodle stood and began walking away. Reaching the lift, she paused, turning her masked face back to me. "Was it worth it? Was it worth building a cyborg so that you wouldn't have to put up with me for this album?"

Was it worth making sure that Noodle wouldn't be killed for helping me protect 'D and knowing too much about the Suppliers? "Worth every cent I spent on it."

I could hear the disgust in her voice when she replied, "After all this time, this family still means nothing to you, doesn't it?"

I didn't answer, instead allowing my hangover to drag me into an unconscious slumber.

. . .

Years passed.

The Suppliers never stopped watching.

2D never remembered the Suppliers.

The band was strained after Plastic Beach. We tried to put on a good face for publicity, smiling at the cameras as film for the Humanz videos rolled, but there was an unhealed rift between me and the rest of the band. We didn't acknowledge it out loud, but it was there.

Then I got sent to prison – for parking tickets, of all things! When the authorities gave me the chance to make a call, I made sure to instruct Noodle to keep giving 2D his pills. I didn't want the Suppliers to confront the band while I was gone, unable to absorb the impact of my own mistakes.

I did a lot of reflection those first few days in prison, and by reflection, I mean moping about how much it sucked that I would probably spend the rest of my life a slave to the Suppliers. 2D would be in the same boat for the rest of his life too – I thought about him a lot, about how we had almost been friends on Plastic Beach, about how if we had somehow managed to defeat the Suppliers, then for the first time in my life, I might actually have a friend.

. . .

"Hey, you!"

I squared my shoulders, trying to look intimidating as another inmate approached me in the Prison's courtyard. "What do you want, baldy?"

The large man grinned. "You're from that Gorillaz band, aren't you?"

I smirked. "Yeah. Murdoc Niccals, band leader extraordinaire."

"Then you must know Stuart, my old piano teacher!"

"Your what?"

. . .

(return to Noodle's perspective)

Murdoc paused to take a few breaths. He was still ill from his trek up the mountain; his story had been riddled with breaks to get his breath back.

Between the struggle to process the information he'd given me and my curiosity over the next lines of his story, my mind was reeling. I tapped the katana laid across my knees and took a few moments to set straight in my head the main points I had learned:

The Suppliers had helped Murdoc cover the murder of his father.

Murdoc had willingly given 2D the Supplier's medicine for about ten years before realizing how sick his head was when he almost attacked me.

Murdoc had wanted to be rid of the Suppliers for good, and had even committed to helping 2D, before ultimately deciding that he couldn't win against the Suppliers.

That last point left me feeling frustrated. Murdoc had spent ages at Plastic Beach trying to find ways to beat the Suppliers, and had failed. He'd promised me earlier that he knew a way we could shake off the Suppliers, but if his plan at Plastic Beach failed, how could I be sure his current plan would be any better?

I gave the sick man a few more moments to catch his breath before prompting, "So, what happened when that inmate confronted you?"

"He told me that Stuart taught him piano, years and years ago," Murdoc rasped. "Apparently, one of teenage 2D's extracurricular activities had been hosting piano lessons at a juvenile detention center on Tuesdays. It turns out that he got pretty popular amongst a crowd of kids who later ended up joining a gang – not the Suppliers, a different gang. The inmate said his gang would be happy to offer me protection while I was in prison, since he assumed I was a 'friend' of 'D." Murdoc smirked. "I thought he was a sketchy bloke at first, but then his mates helped me out when I had a tangle with a violent prisoner wielding a sharpened spoon…" Murdoc shivered. "Anyway, I started thinking… The blokes in this gang were old pals with 2D, yeah? If they were willing to offer me some protection, they'd be willing to do even more to help 2D himself… Maybe even take on the Suppliers."

Hope shot through me like electricity. "Did you ask them if they would? Did they agree?"

"Well…" Murdoc coughed before continuing. "Turns out, starting a gang war isn't something these folks take lightly. They'd heard of the Suppliers, and they knew they'd have their work cut out for them if they didn't want to get slaughtered in a fight. They said I'd have to convince their leader that the fight was a good idea, and the leader wasn't having it."

My excitement deflated. "So that plan is dead?"

"Not quite." Murdoc offered a small grin. "The inmate I spoke with in the courtyard told me that if I could find the leader's brother, he'd be able to convince the leader to fight the Suppliers. Apparently, the leader's brother was one of Stu's piano students. The trouble is, the brother hadn't been seen in years. Rumor has it that he'd run off to Argentina and joined up with a crime lord named El Mierda."

My hands tightened around my katana. "You think the leader's brother is here?"

Murdoc nodded. "That's why I wanted you to find this place. If we can find this guy, and convince that gang to fight the Suppliers with us, then we might just have a shot at defeating the Suppliers once and for all."

. . .

Coming Up Next: Will Noodle and Murdoc be able to find the gang leader's brother? Will Gorillaz finally have a plan to end Murdoc's deal with the drug gang and free 2D forever from his pills?