Psychic City: This is a second story of mine and, this time, I'm going to try and stay original! Please leave reviews and let me know what you think of this so far. I'd definitely love to keep going with this!

Chapter One:
Down the Lift

"In the afterlife, you could be headed for a serious strife..."
-Squirrel Nut Zippers, "Hell"

Murdoc Nicclas kicked his feet up. He leaned back his head against the front of the slightly crooked love seat. There was a snap and sizzle, something smooth that leapt up in the palms of his hands. And, upon glancing down at the freshly opened can of beer, Murdoc's smile intensified. "Ahh," he sang groggily to himself, peering down at the alcohol as if it were some sort of golden divinity, "this is it. This is the life." And perhaps his cheerfulness was, in turn, only do to the excessive amount of liquor he had already consumed over the course of the fading day but, as for now, he, Murdoc Niccals, was a happy man. He pressed his light head further back, downing a significant amount of the glistening bottle, and groped around in the darkness for the remote to the telly.

He swiveled back, stretched a long, green arm behind his shaggy head of greasy black hair, and flicked on the box set. A burst of black and white static overtook the screen before resolving itself into a better picture. Even despite the hazy vision, despite the soft whisper of the television audio, Murdoc's smile persisted. He'd had quite a good afternoon, in all honesty, and as he sat in his settled position, he even basked in the minute thought of it.

Thus, despite the massively large brown dome in the middle of the water, despite Murdoc's frequent sightings of a lanky girl in a cat mask, he was finally beginning to really enjoy his time on Plastic Beach. Sure, he'd had the album finished, and sure, the majority of his featured guests had gone their separate ways- but that did not mean that he was finished with having some fun for himself. So he'd kept 2D captive, as a sort of side-line source of entertainment, and used the Cyborg Noodle far more often than necessary. He'd been blessed with the island, with a bribable whale, and with a brain-damaged moron of a singer who didn't quite realize that there were two spare lifeboats out by the dock. And that was it; that was the life. He, Murdoc Niccals, was, by all means, living quite the high one.

And despite the pirate jets, despite the anonymous washed up death threats, Murdoc could forget about all that useless nonsense with a snap of his fingers. "Oiii, Cyber Doodle!" he commanded and someplace, in the depths of what could have been considered a living room, something snapped strictly upwards. A strong beep echoed through the living room and an even larger smile spread across Murdoc's anxious face. He downed the last of his beer as if it were a shot, tossed the remains over his shoulder on to the spare and ancient couch, and pointed to the empty space in front of the television.

He breathed out, taking in the stale air of the overly polluted and neon pink hunk of plastic beach. Ah yes, this was it, an odd piece of what was perhaps paradise. "Be a doll and grab us that handle." There was a snap, a collection of a few tiny beeps, and then the Cyborg was off back into the blackness. Out of the corner of his eye, Murdoc watched it extend it's slender hand, swipe the glass liquor bottle off of the kitchen counter, and steadily present it out in front of itself. It's eyes scanned the darkness, locking in finally upon Murdoc and shoving the alcohol out in its commander's direction. Murdoc's eyes twinkled and he downed his first swig of hard liquor. He had to admit, the Cyborg Noodle was a good idea. After all, it was getting a lot better at adjusting to Murdoc's rather 'special' drinking habits.

"Alright, RobboCop," he slurred, flicking his wrist to one side and gesturing for the machine to slide away from the television screen, "scoot."

The metal Noodle stiffened and did as it was told, directing itself away from the screen, and folding itself into a proper position on the love seat next to Murdoc. It did not twitch or make a move and, despite the constant beeping noises, Murdoc only eyed it with a slight annoyance before turning back to the fuzzy screen. "Fucking cable," he slurred, leaning even further back into the cushions of the love seat. He glanced away from the robot and reclined, absorbed in the nothingness on the screen and fumbling slightly with the speaker volume before giving up entirely.

Murdoc glanced subtly out the window, back out into the wide ocean scenery that stretched out everlasting before him. The light house cast is beams over the surface, igniting the anti-landscape with full force. In the light breeze, the palm trees swayed with the wind and a ghost-like howl overtook the air around his floating landmass. Without much light, the stars above him stood out radiantly and, for once, Murdoc wished he had any appreciation at all for astrology. Yet the visual of space above made his eyes slip, cascading slightly upon him with a rather unexpected intrusion. He'd found himself far more tired than he had even expected himself to be as he downed yet another swig of the handle's contents and curled himself up quite sloppily.

The television flicked. Something about the wonky little screen flashed and the picture's colors quickly inverted before fading back to normal. "Fucking Cable," Murdoc repeated with a slur, and he rested his head backwards, ignoring the flickering box before permitting his eyes to shut with weary intentions.

"Ah, sleep with one eye open, Mr. Niccals..."

Murdoc's sleepy eyes snapped open. He had heard the noise clearly and even the last of the awful sentence bounced in an echo off of interior walls. Havering, he bounded upwards, knocking the handle from his grasp in the process, and shattering the glass bottle on the floor as a result. "Fuck!" cried Murdoc, making for a steady stance, but the light emitting from the television screen made him conclusively halt.

There in the center of the black box was a face, pale and anxiety ridden. Though despite the harsh lines and the visible scars, the complexion before him wore an upturned and curled smile. His eyes shined yellow and his head of slicked hair was black and admittedly well-kept. He stood in the frame of the television with his arms crossed, his cocky expression well accented by the two sharp horns that jolted out from either side of his skull. And though only part of his bare chest was visible, a dark and admittedly impressive tattoo of a beast had been imprinted on it. Murdoc groaned, hissing, "shit," before attempting to sloppily regain himself.

"Here I am on a pile of landmass in the middle of nowhere, and yet you lot always seem to track me down," he bemused, flattening out his own head of black hair. His slippery fingers wound their way to the Cyborg and, slyly, he snatched out the batteries without much difficulty. The bleeping thing dimmed and, consequently, flopped downwards in a messy sort of hunch before Murdoc returned his full attention to the TV set. His sarcastic smile matched the demon's and, a bit too casually, he shifted his weight. "How do you manage that one?" he asked.

"A deal's a deal, Niccals," the thing warned, not amused. He hadn't taken his eyes off of Murdoc, despite the Cyborg distraction at the other end of him. "One soul..."

Murdoc lifted his wrist, glaring down at his watch impatiently. "Oh, come on," he said, drawing out his speech in a long and exasperated way, "has it really been...?"

"Twelve years, Niccals," the man hissed, his long tongue snapping out furiously between his lips. "Two years longer than what was even agreed upon!"

A bout of silence overtook the two men and Murdoc glanced rapidly towards the television remote. He lifted up the flimsy thing and slammed his cracked fingernail hard down upon the soft power button. However, the face of the demon on the screen still remained and, for the first time in that night, Murdoc's blood ran cold. "Shit," he muttered, shoulders slumping with perfect enthusiasm. He glanced back down at the powered down servant, wondering why he had been so compelled to power it down in the first place. It wasn't as if the Cyborg would have helped shield him from any on-screen demon anyways, but standing in front of the man in his boxers and boots, Murdoc couldn't help but feel a bit solitary in his cornered entrapment.

And yet, as a prideful man, he straightened himself upright, fiddled with the strap of his loose boxer shorts, and regained his previously unbreakable composure. "Two years," he said, despite the flickering heart beat in the pit of his nicotine chest, "that's... er... not too long, is it? Can't be too impatient down there, eh? I mean, considering you lot have almost all eternity..."

Against the screen of the television set, the man growled, not amused. His sharp and jagged teeth sat dull and yellow behind his curled thin little lips. However, he extended a hand forward, protruding his wrist out of the glass, and reached out towards Murdoc with a flicker in his yellow eyes. "A deal is a deal," he said angrily, pulling his second wrist through forcefully. The television did a slight little shutter before falling over the end table, shattering into multiple pieces on the floor before Murdoc's scoffed Cuban heels.

But the newfound silence that overtook the living room unnerved him. The smashed TV was one thing, but the face of the bitter demon had gone. Unprepared, Murdoc swirled around in the nighttime, feeling for the back of his shut off Cyborg and pushing her to the side in a heap on the floor. Drunk and newly anxious, he stumbled over the metal heap, and scurried off to the lift. "Why so edgy, Niccals?"came the voice again and Murdoc threw himself backwards upon the wall behind him. He hadn't even made it to the lift when he'd heard the soft echo of the voice. Heaving, he stumbled back over his own feet, holding out his inverted cross like a pathetic little shield.

The shaded demon laughed. "What's the use of that?" he laughed, cocking his pointed chin out towards the Satanist's necklace. Murdoc's eyes found the gold upside cross and, cursing, he dropped it against his panting green chest.

"What do you want?" Murdoc finally hissed, feeling the harsh pounding of his head throb against his temples. He was far more intoxicated then he'd have liked to have been, and yet, he only just managed to keep his questionable composure in front of the smirking demon. The thing, still amused, wore a pair of tattered nice trousers and a scuffed gold watch. Perhaps at one point a propper businessman, he looked as if he had been very deeply ripped off. Murdoc wondered if it had been, in fact, he who had done so to the demon. And despite the pride that swelled through him at the thought of it, he couldn't help the notion that he really just wanted to shit his pants. His heart rip intensely against his boney sternum. "Hm?"

The demon strode forward, the tattered cloth of his once nice business trousers dragging out behind him on the littered floorboards. "You've had your fun, Murdoc," taunted the dark man, motioning quickly to his watch. "Now it's our turn to have ours."

A recognizable beep sounded off in the distance and Murdoc's head snapped up. In the darkness, he saw the front of the Cyborg, her head upwards and her mouth lifted into a rather seductive smile. In fractions she crawled upwards, reaching out her arm and then coiling her leg upwards near her thin little shoulders. Finally, she surpassed the ghost of the demon, moving towards Murdoc with a robotic tone in her creepy step. It wasn't possible, Murdoc was sure, he'd turned her off... he was certain of it.

Breathing hard, his hand found the lift button and he heard the clang of metal from below as it lifted itself up towards him. Yet the Cyborg Noodle was nearing him and the sound of the demon's oncoming laughter overtook the clanging sound and Murdoc backed up several paces behind himself. But, much to his relief, the lift doors flung open and he fell back sloppily over his feet, and into the back of the elevator, where his throbbing and drunken skull met the metal wall beyond him.

There was a creak, several inaudible bleeps, and the shadow of the Satanist's creation came cast over him within the instant. But his impaired vision overtook his senses and before he noticed that he was, in fact, loosing consciousness, he saw the Android lean in towards his sweaty face.