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Gorillaz Fic: A King is Not a Pawn - Chapter 1

A King is Not a Pawn – Chapter 1



Title: A King is Not a Pawn

Chapter: Chapter 1

Pairing: Murdoc/2D

Genre: Romance/Angst

Rating: R - NC-17

Summary: During his many moments alone, 2D wonders what he’s doing on Plastic Beach and what the hell is going on in Murdoc’s head. Murdoc meanwhile is trying very hard to obey a self-imposed rule he swore never to break.

A/N: Tried to add as much of the Gorillaz canon up to now as I could feasibly manage, but some things have been left out to save me the massive frustration of first waiting for the truth behind Murdoc to be revealed. (Not that I’m not bloody excited to find out, mind you. Is he some sort of Immortal? Is it reincarnation? What is his business with the Evangelist? Oooh, I want to know!)

Also, I’m going to pretend the ten blue-haired children thing was a joke, for the sake of my sanity.


When one is left alone for long periods of time with not much to do to stay entertained, thinking tends to be the only option. 2D had never been very good at that sort of thing, but it wasn’t as if he had much choice in the matter. Kidnappers were rarely the sort of people who cared if you were entertained or not. Murdoc was no exception, even if he had been fairly generous with his DVD collection. His pills used to pull a nice fuzzy blanket over his mind and discourage him from partaking in navel-gazing, but they were in short supply on the desolate island.

And so he sat for hours and thought. Often, his thoughts would inevitably drift towards his bastard of a captor. He was starting to wander why he had ever had such a rose-tinted view of the evil green git.

When he had first woken up from his year-long coma all those years ago, Murdoc Niccals had been the first person he saw with the new dark void-eyes. The man had grinned at him wide-eyed, like a lunatic seeing heaven and all its wonders. The Satanist had been expecting unrivalled retribution the second the vegetable known as Stuart Pot was thrown violently from his seat. Instead, he was treated to a front row seat to the birth of a blue-haired, beautiful zombie-god with black holes for eyes.

As soon as Stuart collapsed from the effort of simply getting up and standing after a year of being mostly stationary, Murdoc had scooped him up and headed for the former site of Uncle Norm’s Keyboard Emporium.

Rather than request a visit to the hospital, Stu had been rather flattered that this man (who had apparently been taking care of him for a year while he was in his fragile state) so eagerly wanted to see his keyboard talents first-hand. He could barely move his atrophied fingers, but the notes that he drew from the instrument had visibly pleased the man and it made Stu smile warmly. His last thought before exhaustion claimed him again was how nice it was to have someone finally appreciate him.

For a few weeks, Murdoc had greatly appreciated him.

He appreciated the moment Stu woke up in hospital in front of his parents; he had that groggy smile on his face and said “Oh, hello Mr. Niccals. Thanks so much for taking care of me,” and proceeded to convince his parents to drop the charges.

He appreciated it a great deal when the boy had immediately agreed to become his keyboard player, and even more when it turned out he had a gift for singing too.

But what he appreciated most about Stu was how easy he was to manipulate, with his foggy mind and apathy towards the bass player’s power over him.

2D shook his head as he thought of how naïve he used to be when it came to Murdoc Niccals. He had worshipped the very ground the bastard walked on and received nothing in return. Well, maybe not nothing. Murdoc had tolerated him in those pre-Kong days enough to let him sleep in his apartment and shared his alcohol quite freely. He even gave the boy a shiny new name.

But oh, the violence and control issues never ran thin with the Satanist. Oh no, he was never more than an hour away from a good kicking or a backhand to the head. In all the years he had known Murdoc, the man was always the one trying to be in control of every situation, sometimes to the point of obsession. No one could deny he had lots of practice with it.

All of it leading up to the point when he had his singer kidnapped. And now what? The album was finished. The tour was over. The Fall, a little project Murdoc had let him work on to keep him busy, was complete. And yet, the Satanist still kept him locked up in the horrible underwater prison of a room with his greatest nightmare staring in at him whenever Murdoc felt the need to open the curtains and remind 2D of their relationship hierarchy.

Stuart lay back in his bed and stared at the labyrinth of pipes above his head. He knew that somewhere above his head, there was cruel imitation of his favourite guitarist sapping power from some or other outlet. In a cupboard.

She – that horrible un-Noodle thing – freaked him out almost as much as the whale sometimes. She was a proud resident of The Uncanny Valley.

The violence was a big part of it. Robo-Noodle was aggressive in ways that the true Noodle might once have been capable of before Gorillaz became her life, but with a cold machine cruelty and a programmed love of spent shell casings.

To add to the horror, there was the way she never completely got the hang of language; apart from the usual commands for firepower and rum and the occasional forcible fetching of 2D, she didn’t really understand what most words meant. Murdoc was too lazy to bother teaching her anything complex. She was just a half-assed attempt at replacing sweet little Noodle.

Well, Noodle (if she was still alive) wasn’t really all that little, now that he thought about it. She had been a part of Gorillaz for many years already. She should be…

He carefully counted and re-counted the years, and gasped in shock.


His mind was boggled; he felt older than he’d ever felt before. She was like a little sister who he saw every few years and occasionally got to watch grow up. Or like an adopted daughter who just happened to be more independent, experienced and dangerously intelligent than most orphans. And now (again, if she was alive) she was a proper grown-up. The idea of a grown-up Noodle left him completely dumbfounded.

2D pressed a hand to his skull; the nostalgia was making more than just his heart hurt, and migraines were frequent enough already. Especially since the kidnapping. If only the bastard had bothered to grab a few more of the pain-meds he kept in every room of his apartment, he would be fine and dandy and too stoned to think about the abomination outside the porthole. But no, the shitfaced dickhead hadn’t left him with a single spare capsule. He never cared about people’s pain, least of all 2D’s pain. In fact, he seemed to relish it. Murdoc probably sold all his meds for spare change.

He cringed as the throbbing worsened. He was living without the sole thing that made daily life manageable, and it meant the pain was so much worse. It was like having an earthquake going on in his skull while fire-ants declared war on his brain.

Often, 2D was tempted to provoke Murdoc into chloroforming him to sleep, even if it meant having to deal with horrible nausea the next day. Unfortunately, with the exception of meals, the man only let him out every few days. And it was only so he had someone to rant at and throw around and (when he extremely lucky) drink with. He quite liked it when they drank together, actually. They were some of the few times Murdoc Niccals was surprisingly civil towards his singer.

They would laugh like they used to. Kong was reminisced about. Memories of Russel’s cooking, Noodle’s tiny Mohawk, the ever-present zombies and the video game sessions led to an increase in their alcohol intake. And groupies, always the groupies. They couldn’t help it, really; as much as they indulged during the tour, the fact that they were back on an island in the middle of the nowhere meant that the topic of women would always inevitably enter the conversation.

It was during one of these rather pathetic moments drinking together that Murdoc had leaned in a little too close and asked him if he wanted to borrow some movies to keep himself occupied. 2D hadn’t understood why Murdoc changed the subject from women to watching movies, but he had shrugged and said “Sure, I could do with laugh,” and got an odd look from the bassist in return.

When he eventually got around to popping “Titty Titty Bang Bang” into his DVD player, he finally understood what kept the Satanist from snapping after all those months on the island: Fairly decent pornography.

2D glanced over at the stack of borrowed DVDs in a corner of his dingy room. On the cover of the top-most case, a curvy blonde squeezed her full breasts and winked at him, all cheap pink lipstick and pigtails. Nice, but not in comparison to the real thing. He sighed; he used to get the real thing all the time.

He hadn’t seen a living, breathing woman since Murdoc barged into his hotel room on the last day of the tour. The singer was enjoying the company of a rather generous fan, when he was yanked out of bed, handcuffed, and marched back to the submarine. He cried for hour that day.

He got up slowly, trying not to further aggravate his headache, and carefully swung his legs off the bed. Blinking sluggishly at the door, he wondered for the umpteenth time if he should try to pry it open. Sometimes he got lucky and Murdoc would close the door but forget to lock the hatch. On those rare and wonderful occasions, 2D would slip up to the kitchen and fix himself a quick sandwich, numb his head with some booze from Murdoc’s rum-crate, and wander around the island a bit. And he did so as quietly as possible.

He leaned against the door carefully. Quickly he scanned the room, licking his lips. 2D still wasn’t’ sure if there were any cameras in his room, but he wouldn’t put it past Murdoc. He could only hope that if there were any, no one was watching at that particular moment. 2D shoved against the metal door with his bodyweight, and mentally cheered when he saw it budge. The door swung open and he was greeted by the sight of an empty corridor. Good. No Murdoc, no cyborg.

He wandered towards the elevator and hit the button for the study. If he was lucky, he could quickly sneak out a whole bottle of rum and a bowl of instant noodles and be back down before anyone saw him. It didn’t seem likely, but he would take what he could get. There were days when Murdoc forgot about things like food, either because the man was pre-occupied with something he never spoke of, or in a rum-induced coma.

As soon as he stepped out of the lift, he headed for the booze-globe and instantly knew it had been a bad idea.

A green figure was lounging on the couch, obviously smashed and irrefutably Murdoc. It took him a moment to notice 2D, but when he did he let it be known.

“Oi, Faceache! What the fuck are you doing here?”


(It is likely that future chapters will be much longer. Hope you are enjoying it so far. Please comment!)