Just a wad of something I wrote in honor of the new Song Machine release, "PAC-MAN." A slash fic? "Highly unlikely, but use your imagination," as said by Jamie and/or Damon.

DISCLAIMER: Gorillaz does not belong to me, nor am I making any profit from this work.

July was the month that made you feel dirty. The heat made you sweat, the humidity made you tired, and above all, the monotony of each day in Kong Studios made you feel jaded. Jaded entirely with life.

At least, those were the thoughts of Murdoc Niccals as he walked slowly down the dank hallways of the building. Generally he looked around him with pride that knew no limits; after all, he'd never known a life of luxury and it's not as if anyone thought he ever would. Since he was a young boy he'd had his hopes and dreams, but sharing them with his older brother or even his father got him laughed out the room. Or smacked. Or both.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Hannibal liked to say while nearly choking the smaller boy by the scruff of his neck. "Pretty soon it's gonna be Christmas, and you know what you're gonna get? A bloody kick in the balls."

Murdoc grinned tipsily just thinking about it. Well, look who's stupid now? Look who's working as a garbageman, and look who's touring the world with one of the biggest bands on planet Earth. And Christmas could go get fucked, it was nothing to celebrate. Period.

He flicked on the light in the kitchen, kicking aside the magazines someone – probably Noodle - had left on the floor, and took out yet another bottle of Jack Daniel's. In about ten minutes it'd be time for another recording session, and as usual he'd have to round everybody together.

Why couldn't they just be on time? Well, sometimes they were. But in the end, they looked up to him as a leader. They wouldn't make a move without him. Of course, it could have something to do with the fact that he didn't really schedule anything half the time and had a habit of announcing sessions at 2 A.M if he felt like it, but fuck that. Only the best logical conclusions could go in the precious little brain space he had left.

"Oy oy oy!" he could hear a pained high-pitched voice behind him. Definitely Noodle. She was jumping up and down in the kitchen, practically tearing her hair out at the sight of her bent magazines.

"I told you you'd never beat that game, luv," grinned Murdoc over his shoulder, as he was halfway back down the hall.

"No video game-uh!" groaned Noodle. "I break that already! Look!" And she lifted one of the magazines with tender hands.

"Lesson of the house 24, Noodle. Don't leave them on the ground, they won't get bent. Simple." Murdoc leered at her, his long tongue snaking out in sinister disinterest.

Noodle glared underneath her bangs and started shouting. Cursing at him, no doubt, but he couldn't understand her and didn't give a shit anyway. The girl looked quite adorable when she was furious.

"Be in the studio in ten minutes," he said, and kept walking. He was nearly around the corner when he felt the slap at his back. Noodle's magazine. He turned back to see her grinning, her arms folded.

"One of these days, Noodle..." Murdoc growled, kicking the magazine back towards her. She only smiled in return. It was an empty threat, they both knew it, but she wouldn't have it any other way. In a flash she skipped to her room and started tuning her guitar...

Russel was sitting at his turntables, vibing to something cool and old school like he often did. And, as usual, he knew Murdoc was coming before the sallow-shaded bloke even knocked on the door. He was very spiritually aware, feeling presences and seeing things that few could even conceive of.

"Yo, what the hell is ol' greenshanks doin' up in here?" Del asked, pointing fingers. "I thought we was supposed to be on vacation."

Russel rolled his eyes. "And what gave you that bright idea? The grinding sessions we've been doin' Mon through Friday?" he thought at him, then turned to Murdoc. "Just say the word, man. I'm ready."

Murdoc took a swig from his bottle, a crooked grin on his face. Sometimes it was just too easy with Russel. The man was such a pro. There were days he wished he'd make an ass of himself so they could argue. Maybe it was just the mark of Satan that he'd let be branded on his soul, but Murdoc loved dissension. He loved arguments. He could feel invigorated, enlivened, even uplifted, by an influx of negativity.

But Russel was surrounded more or less by a decidedly neutral energy. Calm, mellow, relaxed. In other words, nothing.

"Sure," Murdoc slurred, leaning insolently against the wall. "Ten minutes."

For a few seconds he just stayed there, lingering because he was feeling lethargic... or just lazy. Or drunk. Or both. But as Russel just ignored him, getting back into the vibe of his records, he shrugged his shoulders and finally took off to 2D's room.

Ahhh, 2D. Stuart Dumbass Pot. Or Tusspot. Or whatever the tosser had said his name was. He was everything Murdoc loathed in a person. Awkward, unassuming, confused, slow, childlike. Stood 6 foot 2, but shrunk into himself so far he might as well have been fucking 4 foot nothing. He was easily frightened, easily dominated. Murdoc had certainly slapped him around a great deal to keep him in line, but he doubted it was even necessary. 2D was harmless, like a deer in the headlights frozen to the spot, terrified of the unknown.

Then add to that his addiction to painkillers, and you had a recipe for someone who was pretty much rendered pathetically useless. Then again, maybe useless was too strong a word. 2D had gifts. He could sing. Like an angel.

Murdoc could still remember the moment he first heard 2D's voice. He hadn't cared whether the kid could sing or not. All he needed was a cute frontman. Someone the girls would swoon over just because he was adorable, "sooo cute" and whatnot. But the moment 2D started singing, he knew he'd found... something.

That's the best way he could put it. His voice struck chords. Even in Murdoc, who had about as much soul left as a burnt effigy. He could feel something when 2D sang, something more than just simple appreciation for the mellow fabric of his voice or his ability to sing in key. There was something deeper within, something that Murdoc was sure would add even more to the success of Gorillaz. Not that it wasn't already guaranteed, but hell, he didn't mind extra security.

Getting close to the door now, Murdoc became aware of sounds from the inside. Strange sounds. Vibrations. "What the hell?" Murdoc almost grunted aloud, but then a sly smile crossed his face. Why not surprise 2D? Why not give him a nice big surprise? Like a shoe to the head or a kick to the groin? He slid over to the side of the door, where a sizeable crack – one 2D had apparently never noticed or somehow didn't care about – let him see in.

Maybe it was his senses getting better, maybe it was just because his ear was closer to the door, but Murdoc could clearly hear music now. One of the demos they were working on. Still nameless at the moment, but already showing loads of promise. Guitar flowed down over a dark bassline, both of which Murdoc had written and played himself. "It'll be a hit. Massive." he thought, licking his lips in anticipation.

He shoved his eye back against the crack, and he could see 2D's scarecrow figure swaying back and forth, dancing with the rhythm and smiling like he'd just walked into an oasis of happiness.

Happiness.

It was such a foreign expression for 2D, Murdoc was momentarily taken aback.

The boy looked so lively, so vibrant. Compared to his usual image – deflated and faded like a crumbled napkin – it was like turning the pages of an old book, seeing nothing but yellow age then suddenly coming across a beautiful full-color illustration.

Murdoc raised an eyebrow and spat noiselessly into the corner. It made him feel a mixture of disgust and anger... but it also gave him a weird sense of pride. After all, 2D was the frontman of his band, and right now he looked fucking amazing. A smirk of satisfaction had crossed Murdoc's face before he even realized it.

But in a moment he shook himself and banged in the door. "2D!" he shouted. "Stuart! Get your arse out in ten minutes!"

2D was startled; he whirled around like a flash, his pocket knife pointed with flawless accuracy at the noise – that is, Murdoc.

"For the love of Sweet Satan," the older man grunted, shoving the knife forcefully out of 2D's shaky hands. "Are you looking for a jail sentence? Or is it an early grave, eh?"

"I'm sorr – I'm sorr – I'm SORRY, I – I – I -" 2D was jabbering like a hyperactive crack addict, trying to get his knife back. "I dinn' mean it, I was just – you know, the music and everything – I couldn' like, hear nuffin'!"

Murdoc sighed and shook his head, and punched him soundly in the stomach, laughing at the parrot-like screech of pain that jumped from 2D's throat. "Ten minutes, kay? Be there." he growled, leering wickedly, and without so much as a backward glance he walked out.

2D stood there, rubbing his stomach absently, a crooked smile on his face. "Time for me painkillers," he was thinking. "Nice of 'im to remind me."

A/N: For those of you who made it this far, I thank you! And now, to reveal my true mission. Remember there was supposed to be a Gorillaz cartoon back in 2018? Well, that never happened, so I thought it'd be cool to try and make our own. If you or anyone you know would be interested, just let me know :-)

Ahh, and tell me what you thought of the story. I'm not much of a fanfic writer, but I'm open to take a request or whatever. Later!