Chapter Text
From above him, he could hear the explosions and gunfire. Instinct said to keep running, get to where the sub had remained hidden this whole time. Get in there and get the hell out of this bloody nightmare. It was done, finished. Get out while he still could. And though some distant voice of reason screamed about those he was leaving behind, the coward in him pushed him forward, his labored breathing and footfall the only sounds in the narrow corridor that led to the hub where he kept the sub. He had to get his arse out of there. There was no other choice. He had narrowly escaped being blown to a million bits by the incoming pirate hoard. And even down in the bowels of Point Nemo, far from the mansion above, he was certain he could smell smoke and fire. He was huffing and panting loudly as he continued to run. If he stayed, he was as good as dead. The Boogieman had found him, aligning itself with the pirates he had fucked over through the years. Had him cornered now with nowhere to really go. He should have known better. Couldn't run forever.
The hallway shifted beneath his feet, the impact of something big reverberating through the island of junk. He could feel the island moving, tilting with the impact. He froze dead in his tracks, hands braced out against the walls. The bags that were slung over his shoulders across his back seemed heavier, increasing in weight with every moment he stalled. If things worked as planned, he could escape and nobody would be the wiser, right? The impostor, a stand in created using his own skin and hair, was nothing more than a flesh and blood phantom, a clone to hopefully throw the pirates and Boogie off his tracks. It had been a stroke of luck to find the spell in one of the books he kept. It had been so long since he'd performed any kind of spell out of that battered old thing, he had almost been terrified it wouldn't work. Given his shaken state when he’d started the spell, who could blame him! But it did work, thank the good man below. It had worked beautifully. Alive long enough for Murdoc to ensure it was his exact double. Mute and almost catatonic, a few noises escaping from it as Murdoc carefully examined the creature. The tattoos were there, along few moles that he was aware of. Even a few he wasn’t aware of – did he really have a big hairy mole on his arse cheek? The clone was impressive enough. It even had the old and scarred track marks on its arms. A perfect double. Murdoc had changed clothes quickly, throwing the clothing he was wearing onto the twin before pulling a gun and shooting the creature in the head. Well enough. Make Boogie and the pirates believe he had offed himself. From there he decided to pack up some of the books, including the most important of them all, and made a run for it down another secret corridor that would take him to the hub.
The island shook again as something large hit, this time the island tilting, his footing sliding out from under him as he scrambled to keep himself from falling down and sliding down the hallway. He hit the floor in a heap, his hands frantically reaching for purchase. The movement ceased, Point Nemo slowly righting itself once again. Now he was hearing noises down below him, down where he'd been keeping his singer. Odd sounds, like structure breaking apart. Murdoc pushed himself upright, listening around him. There was so much noise going on around him that now it was hard to figure out where it was all coming from. The pirates were still firing at the island, at those who remained to fight. The Boogieman had its forces also readying themselves for attack, its other-worldly soldiers spitting images of the back up musicians he'd hired to assist him and 2D with the whole Plastic Beach Live thing. The pirates wanted his head and Boogie wanted his soul. He wasn't about to give up either.
Though he was confident that neither Boogie or the Black Clouds would find the secret corridor that led to the hub, it was not a risk he was willing to take by lingering and waiting. Considering the sounds, the island's movement and the smells around him, he was pretty sure that Point Nemo was going down. This was it. And that attack had come out of nowhere, hadn't it? He and Stu had been in the lighthouse, toying around with the ham radio to promote that silly iPad album thing that the Dent-head had made when the planes and helicopters had swarmed onto the island, bombing and firing away. He had bolted, only vaguely aware that Stu was following, but they'd split up once outside the lighthouse. Face-ache had gone downstairs to his room, Murdoc had made a mad dash for the study. The Cyborg was already firing at the pirates from the rooftop balcony and amidst the smoke and gunfire, Murdoc had seen the Boogieman on board that decrepit old ship, simply standing there and watching them.
Murdoc frowned, pausing just outside the secured door to the hub. When the Boogie conjured the apparitions, he had decided that sticking around to see the rest of this display was not in his best interest. Though he’d barked at the Cyborg to cease fire and follow him, it hadn’t moved from its place. Not interested in fighting with the blasted thing, he had rushed to the study to grab some things before escaping to the secret war room to conjure up the clone and then through a narrow passageway, his back laden with all he felt he needed. The pirates would most likely be too stupid to find the unmarked doorway that led to the hallway he was now in, but Boogie wasn't and Murdoc knew he had to hurry his arse up if he wanted to live and see another day. His one hope was that the impostor he'd created and then killed would throw them off his tracks long enough to get himself out of this fresh hell.
Throwing open the door to the dark and musty smelling hub, he could see the silhouette of the submarine just in the distance. He was unwilling to turn on any lights lest the pirates had somehow made it to the war room and saw the surveillance monitors. Moving through the dark, he felt his boots make contact with the rickety ladder that led to the top of the sub. He climbed quickly throwing open the top, uttering a squawk of surprise when he realized the Cyborg was already in there. “Where the hell did you come from?” he muttered, shaking away his surprise. It didn’t respond, simply sitting in the driver’s seat with the controllers in its hands. Whatever, it was there and this wasn’t a bad thing. The bucket of bolts was a useful thing to keep on hand, especially given its weapons knowledge and ability to drop any potential threat.
He dropped bags and cases into the sub soundlessly. Slipping in, he pulled the top shut behind him, securing it tight. He stood there in the darkness, listening intently. In spite of the several inches of steel and distance between where he stood and the attack, he could still hear the gun fire and explosions above. Okay, so far it appeared most of the fighting was still above water. Shoving the Cyborg out of the driver’s seat, he dropped into the seat and started firing up the dash and controls. Time to blow this pop stand, as the saying goes.
The sub slowly started to light up, coming to life with a low humming sound. Murdoc grabbed the controls, pushing the lever forward and bracing himself as the sub descended beneath the surface of the water. A few feet below the surface was the opening that meant escape and survival. Propelling it forward, he watched as the darkness lifted and soon he was just outside the hub, alongside the island. The sun blasting down on the water cast the world around him in a dull blue glow. And now in the light, he was witness to what was taking place, seeing bits and pieces of debris and other rubble falling through the water as they made their graceful journey to the bottom of the ocean. The plastic palm trees, pieces of the mansion, random chunks of some of the pink encrusted island itself. Murdoc let out a low groan as a massive section of the mansion – the studio – drifted past him, taking with it millions of dollars in instruments and equipment.
Pushing the little sub into gear, he slammed back against the seat as it surged forward, dodging and skirting the pieces of his precious hide-away that were all around him now. Just above, he could even see the flashes and what appeared to be the orange-red glow of flames. He shook his head, muttering under his breath as he lit a cigarette and continued forward. Part of him wondered if he should go back and try to rescue the Face-ache and both Lards and Noods, but he couldn't bring himself to it. Fear was over-riding any solid feelings he had for them. They should know by now that he only looked out for himself, right? He hadn’t made it this far in his life worrying about every other sorry sod out there. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the whale circling around, moving in towards the island at speeds that puzzled him. Slowing the sub, he spun the tail end, now staring at the distant shadow that was once his precious Point Nemo. The whale was heading straight towards the island, mouth agape. Was it really attacking the island? It seemed to defy any reason, but everything about what was going on defied any reason. Dark forces were what kept his arse safe and brought them all to fame, dark forces were what kept the whale in close to keep the Face-ache in check. So, now that those dark forces were turning against him, it would make sense that it would mean the whale would as well.
“No fucking way,” he muttered, exhaling smoke and watching as the whale grabbed onto the narrower base of the island, tearing at it, the underwater world exploding in a cloud of pink matter, bubbles and more debris. This was really the end, wasn't it? Ol' Stu was gone unless the lanky bastard had managed to escape his underwater room. And quite honestly, he wasn’t convinced that Noodle and Russ could fight off or escape the pirates and Boogie. Goners, the whole lot. And he would be too if he didn't get his narrow arse into gear and got the fuck out of range. Uttering a sigh, he directed the sub back around and moved onward. Just like with El Manana, someone close to him was taking the fall for his own dealings. Normally, this realization wouldn't have troubled him, but this was at a much grander scale. And it involved those who'd stuck it out with him at his worst. People that he did consider friends. He was a bastard, that's what he was. Chances were, they'd need him the most because of what he knew of the dark forces and here he was high-tailing it as far as he could.
No time to dwell on it, just keep moving. Mourn their loss later once he was far the fuck away and safe.
When he was certain he was a safe distance, he slowly maneuvered the sub to the surface, staring out the partially submerged window with his mouth hanging open, seeing nothing in the distance but a great orange fire-ball, black smoke traveling skyward. Surrounding the inferno were bits and pieces of burning debris, the dark silhouette of the ghostly pirate ship just barely visible beyond the smoke. Lighting another cigarette, he smoked it in silence, watching the armageddon taking place before his very eyes. Though he had his doubts, there was some small slivers of hope that Stu, Noodle and Russ had escaped. The ship in the distance appeared still and unmoving as the island erupted into another fireball, collapsing within itself, the black smoke pouring from it as it started to sink to its watery grave. When the last remnants of smoke vanished from sight, the ship finally started to move, traveling slowly. It took Murdoc a long moment to realize that it was circling the smoldering remains that floated at the ocean's surface and heading straight in his direction. Scrambling, he grabbed at the controls, ready to push the sub underwater and as far away from the ghost ship as possible. He pushed the sub as far down as he dared, resting a good couple hundred yards below, the cigarette now smoldering on his lip, the ash nearly half the length of the cancer stick. He kept his eyes above, seeing the faint dark shape of the ship’s underside. Did Boogie not take the bait and realize he'd made a run for it? The ghostly minions of Boogie, perhaps?
Christ, did it even matter at this point? And why the hell was he just sitting there? Was he waiting for whoever was operating the ship to hop aboard his sub, give a handshake and introduce themselves? Whomever it was, they most likely weren't hoping to catch up with him and arrange an afternoon tea. If he wanted to get out of this in one piece, it was time to move on. Gorillaz was done anyway. Chances were, everyone else was dead and gone. Sure, he could always form a new band, but it wouldn't be Gorillaz. Not anymore. He had barely made it by the skin of his teeth with the last album. He couldn't pull off another fraud as Gorillaz, no matter how well put together they'd be.
A deep frown settled onto his face as he flipped a few of the controls and pushed the lever forward, the little submarine springing to life and jerking forward hard enough to slam him back into his seat and hear the Cyborg tumble backwards behind him. Relaxing his tense muscles, he kept his eyes forward, the underwater world moving past him as if he were rushing down the wrong way of a motorway. The sunlight above sliced through the water, reflecting off the passing fish and even off the glass of the sub's massive front window. From behind him, a brilliant white flash illuminated the watery world around him, the fish suddenly lost in the blast. Even underwater in the sub, he heard a muffled explosion from somewhere above, the bright white light consuming all around him, blinding him. Cursing loudly, Murdoc grabbed at the controls, the submarine shaking hard in the aftershocks. What the bloody hell was that? He was unaware of anything above water that could affect those below.
The brilliant white light was receding, his vision clearing. It was like he'd never moved, everything paused in their motions. Like time itself had stopped. He pushed himself off the seat, looking around with wide eyes. Even the bubbles were frozen in time. How odd was that? Everything was so still, calm and peaceful. It took him a long moment to realize that even the sub was still, caught in suspended animation like the rest of the sea life around him. How was it that everything had stopped and yet he was moving around, unaffected?
There was another flash, brighter than the one before, his eyes burning as he stumbled back into his seat. Sweet fucking Satan, it was burning through his closed eyelids. Searing his retinas and blinding him, no doubt. An odd rumbling noise seemed to fade in and out in his hearing, finally growing louder and louder echoing within his head, smothering his thoughts and all the other sounds around him. Another flash exploded in the white, the world coming back to view, the submarine quaking violently, the force of the shaking knocking him back into his seat. The fish had evaporated in the wake of it all, nothing left but pink stains in the water. The sub had been jolted sideways, the engine dying. The Cyborg had somersaulted forward, now laying at an odd angle with its arse up in the air. He sat there, frozen in place, staring out the glass at the darkness beyond, back where Point Nemo had once stood, back where that ghastly Glitter Freeze had been. All that remained were pieces, drifting in the water now. Something else was there, a figure drifting amongst the wreckage of the ship, something glowing, just far enough to be nothing but a glowing white blur.
What could that be? He didn't know. Did he want to hang around and find out? Now what an idiotic question, of course not! Sticking around was what got him in the pickle he’d been in with the pirates attacking the island. He’d known they were coming but hadn’t given the Cyborg’s warnings much credence and lollygagged about until he had no choice but to scramble the fuck out of there with a few bags and the clothes on his back. He dropped his gaze down at the random buttons and dials on the sub, reaching out a trembling hand and flicking the switches again. His frown melted, a smile spreading across his face as the idiot lights came back to life, the engine rumbling and choking as it powered back up. With a triumphant laugh, he grabbed the lever, spinning the decrepit little sub around and pushing it forward. He’d escaped! Got out of that hell in one fucking piece! Murdoc Niccals, victorious once again! Laughing loudly in the silence around him, he continued onward. Perhaps a lengthy holiday was in order. Lay low for a year or two. Or ten. Hawaii did sound nice.