Chapter Text
Beirut, Lebanon.
Stale.
He stood there, staring at the busy street through his dim living room window.
The distant noise of the street filling the gloomy ambiance around him.
He resembled a statue, his eyes were focused on one spot in the street but his mind wandered.
Stale— It was the new statues he got used to since relocating to Beirut.
What now? A common question that echoed in his blank mind.
His focus went away from the street to his reflection. Staring down at his tall pale frame— as gazing into an unrecognisable shadow.
Who is Stuart Pot now? It’s a question with no answer.
After the band dismembered, Stu was set on starting a new leaf.
More than anything, he wanted his band years to be nothing but just a phase, memories to put aside.
For him, 2D died the same day he left Kong— as he Left the band now for good this time.
That day stings like an open wound.
He was in shambles. Shaking and Packing up some of his room in disarray. The memories aching with every item.
Holding each object was as getting a paper cut.
Rows and rows of keyboards were staring down at him from the walls, like they’re going to close in on him at every lingering moment.
He looked over a specific set that laid on his bed. His hand hovered above it. Countless sentiments were attached to each key— Ghosts of notes from another era hunt him.
It was unbearable.
He took all the things he was able to pack and rushed to the door.
He entered the room as 2D and left as Stu.
Not looking back.
Not saying farewell to Russel.
Not even daring to think about Murdoc.
Now he needed to find his new identity in his old one.
His parents always wanted him to be a lawyer in the ideal future they imagined for him.
The future that belonged to Stuart pot.
So he’ll have it. He wanted what Stu could’ve had.
He enrolled in law school only to end up dropping out not long after. Crashing down along side his new hope.
Once again, he was robbed of what he should’ve been. But now he only got himself to blame.
With his tail between his legs, Stu just wanted to hide as far as possible— mortifying shame clouding his mind.
Without much of a struggle, he found an apartment he could rent all the way in Beirut— His escape ticket at last.
Thus, He ran away from himself yet again. Living in shameful solitude.
But even there, he couldn’t change who he was or what he should’ve been.
Time went stale.
Days smudged together.
But no matter where he would hide, his fate always landed at the hands of another.
Someone who always had the strings of Stu’s life wrapped around his greasy fingers.
Such a cruel game of luck.
Stu’s gaze didn’t falter for a moment through out his mindless pondering into the window, yet a strange smell started to creep up on him.
His mind felt foggy, but not in the usual manner.
The view of the street started to blur into a muddle of colors.
Then the scene turned to black.
~~~~~~~
From pitch black to a bright light— Everything flashed rapidly through him as he pushed himself forward in a reflex.
The smell of sea salt and rubbish surrounded him.
He could barely recall the events prior or where the hell he was.
It was so bright— his vision completely unfocused.
He reached a hand to his side.
Polyester— he was laying in an open suit case.
Then, a familiar touch reached his shoulders.
“Wakey wakey 2D. So glad you’re back with the living.” Said a muffled raspy voice.
He looked straight into the blurry figure, his vision slowly focusing.
No—
2D looked dumbfounded. Trying to grasp his current situation.
He fainted and ended up at the middle of nowhere— possibly at sea and the first person he sees is him.
Murdoc.
He could barely call him a person at this point.
2D squirmed around “Where am I— What is this?” His voice was sluggish and weak.
His bones felt like jelly.
Murdoc darted forward to 2D and put his hands on both of his shoulders, jerking him towards himself. “This.. This is our new revolution— our rebirth, our renaissance.” His bloodshot eyes penetrated through 2D’s soul, something about them was definitely odd yet a flicker of light went through them.
His presence seemed completely off, even more than what he’s used to from Murdoc.
“What the hell are you talking about?” 2D’s tone shifted slightly, resentment coating his words.
“2D.. this island, is where we’re going to make the revolution— a brand new concept album, the visual voyage of our century— plastic beach!!” Murdoc was ecstatic, trembling at his own words as he going to shed a tear in every moment from his own sentiment.
He got uncomfortably close to 2D, flashing his teeth in an unsettling grin— his breath was heavy with a smell of rot and rum.
Every red light flashed through 2D’s mind “We? There’s no fuckin’ we!!” 2D pushed him away and clumsily got up, almost wobbling down at the process “ya fuckin’ kidnapped me!! And now ya expect me to do this music thing all over again? No Murdoc, ya don’ get it this time.”
Murdoc’s gaze shifted, the flick of light was gone from his mismatched eyes.
“Oh dents, you don’t get to choose a revolution.” Murdoc glared up at him “It just comes rrrushing through whether you like it or not.” He got up next to 2D, his short figure menacing then ever.
He fiercely pulled the singer forward through his arm, getting unnervingly close to his face “We’re doing this album.” His tone was obsolete. “And your pretty little voice will be all over it.” His grip was tight.
Murdoc looked back and snapped his fingers.
“Oi scrap metal! Take our star to his room.” He commanded.
2D was confused. Who could he possibly be referring too? Are there any other people on this garbage land?
Before he could ask for any answers, two cold tough hands gripped his wrists to his back— In a rough but not painful mathematical manner.
“Yes sir.” A cold low quality robotic text-to-speech voice came from behind him.
He took a cautious glance to his back.
A short frame of an adolescent girl with an army uniform was standing right behind him, short deep indigo strands hid away some of her familiar youthful face— which lacked any expression.
There’s no way it’s possibly her.
She looked like her— had the exact same face as her but it’s absurd that’s she’s their young late guitarist, Noodle.
Noodle didn’t have a dead stare in her eyes. She didn’t have a terrible deep syntactic voice— or at least he guessed that most girls didn’t acquire one during puberty, and she definitely would rather die than to call Murdoc ‘sir’. Oh.
“Ohhhh I still didn’t got to introduce you to our new and improved guitarist! Meet cyborg, the brand new Noodle!” Murdoc stood next to her with his arms extended and a proud smirk across his face.
2D was speechless— surprised at how fast Murdoc could reach a new low.
He tried to struggle against her hold, but she was unmovable. Firm.
The shock began to switch to bitterness. “You’re absolutely sick.” 2D sneered at him.
Murdoc gave him a mocking teeth showing grin as a response “Well, enough for heart warming reunions. We should get going.” He waved his hand towards the entrance of the big mansion spreading across the island.
2D entered the unfamiliar building. The stench of rotten plastic and rusty mold did not let go.
He was pushed into a tight lift with Cyborg, “Oi- lemme go you soddin’— Murdoc!” 2D struggled around, but for no avail “what the fuck do ya fink yer doin’ ?” He gritted his teeth and glared at the older man.
Murdoc crossed his arms “relax, aye? you’re just gettin’ a bit of a.. ‘time out’ in your new room! Don’t let your sorry arse worry, it’s completely safe.” He reached his arm into the lift and carefully pushed one of the buttons.
There was a sudden ‘ding’! And the doors started to slowly slide.
Murdoc beaming and waving at him from outside. “Be good, eh? See ya later bluebird.”
“No- Murdoc!” The lift closed with a loud ‘clank’ sound and creaked its way down.
The door gradually opened, dim light coming from a tiny light bulb leading to a staircase.
Cyborg coldly led him down the stairs until they reached a big metal door. She released him and started to push it.
2D cautiously tried to turn around but then he heard a sharp metal sound.
He turned back to face her.
She was dead still. A head of a rifle was sticking out of her mouth.
From this moment on, it was clear to 2D she was more than just Murdoc’s toy replica of Noodle.
She was an armed toy replica of Noodle.
Then, in an instant— he was pushed into the grim room, the door locking behind him.
That is it, he guessed. It couldn’t get any worse.
He was held prisoner in an island made of garbage, forced to sing against his will.
But it didn’t end in that.
2D was forced to reborn from the essence of Stu, He died at kong and was revived at plastic beach— by the same claws of Murdoc Niccals.
He flicked the light and looked behind him.
Blood freezing.
A huge eye greeting him back.
~~~
Night time falls on the distant beach of rubbish.
The heavy fatigue of this entire day comes crashing down on 2D.
He spent his last few hours screaming, knocking on the walls— begging to Murdoc.
It was obvious to 2D that he heard him.
Ever since they lived together at Kong, Murdoc always made sure to keep an open eye and a listening ear on him through the monitors he had in his Winnie.
Every time 2D found the camera, Murdoc just hid it again in another spot. Until 2D was tired of fighting him.
So why would it be any different on Plastic beach?
Murdoc’s cruelty didn’t end in that, he just had to lock the young singer with his greatest fear observing his every move. A whale.
Murdoc knew his every weak spot, and pressed them to his will.
2D laid on his cranky twin sized bed, carrying on like this hasn’t got him anywhere today.
He considered his options.
Murdoc had every upper hand against him.
2D drowned too deep.
Exhausted physically and his mind filled with cruel imagination.
He was torn between his struggling ego to his want to survive under the Murdoc’s claws.
What was even left of him at that point?
It’s not like his life was blooming beforehand.
He was rotting away in his lonely apartment, and now he’s rotting away in a floating island of garbage in the middle of the sea— it’s still worse.
Stale.
He yet again felt stale.
“Fine. Ya won. I would do yer shitty album.” 2D sat at the side of the bed and looked at the ceiling. He clenched his fist tightly.
“Ya hear? I would do it! Murdoc!” He spitted his words with the last grain of his power.
No response.
He could only hope that his far cry would be heard.
~~~~
Life's a sham
And every move is wrong
We've examined
Every move as we move along