Psychic City: I'm playing with a new concept for a new story, so let me know what you think about this one in a review! I will update as soon as possible and I'll keep a look out for all the feedback I get! Please let me know what you think- it definitely keeps me motivated!

Chapter One:
Cornflower Blue

Murdoc Niccals gritted his crooked teeth. He smelled fresh air, roses, and a hint of overwhelming male cologne that made him wrinkle his nose and swear pretentiously under his breath. Around him, the cheerful view of cornflower blue wallpaper leaned in on him. He took in the unsightly decorative collaboration of polished windows, dramatically drawn curtains, and silence in disgust. Wrinkling his nose, he labeled the scenery as 'quaint' and decided that he'd rather bleed to death than spend another minute within the contents of the four barricading walls before him. Though, all things considered, Murdoc hadn't really given the area much of a chance to begin with. From the very moment he'd walked into the half-lit building, he could tell he was not going to like it there.

Still, he'd been making his obvious dissatisfaction as blunt as possible for the sake of Russel, the drummer, who had been sitting nearest him quietly with his meaty black hands in the pit of his lap. Coming to the God forsaken place had been his idea to begin with in the first place, after all, much to Murdoc's initial refusal. Though Russel Hobbs hadn't taken Murdoc's 'no' as much as an obstacle, either. Sure, when Russel had mentioned therapy sessions, Murdoc had truly thought he'd been only kidding. In fact, he had even managed to announce out loud, "you must be joking!" before Russel had pelted him across the head with one of his massive clenched-up fists.

So now, Murdoc sat with a twisted up face, one cocky attitude, and a massive swell on the side of his head that, admittedly, still hurt one week after the incident. Arms crossed, he thought to himself, "fuck Russel," but only sighed aloud to further get his point across. Besides, the moment the large man had mentioned 'group therapy', he had already had somewhat of an idea towards what he was getting himself in to. Murdoc Faust Niccals, he didn't do 'therapy' and, for that matter, didn't do 'feelings', either.

But Russel Hobbs knew this and, despite the fact, he swiveled his large white eyes in Murdoc's direction and shot him an angry glare for a matter of what only lasted a few short moments. A slightly overjoyed rise in Murdoc's chest permitted the prideful feeling of accomplishment inside of him; sure, he'd come along for Russel's little therapy brigade, but he'd still managed to piss him off during the starting duration of it. And yet, grimily, he decided that pushing Russel's buttons would be all the more fun while they were waiting for the silly therapist anyways.

"So, uhh, Russ," Murdoc mused, using a tone that was all the more bored and monotonous, "enlighten me. Why's it were here again?"

Russel's arm gave a little twitch and Murdoc suppressed a fit of chuckles when he'd noticed the strain it had taken for Russel not to lean over and hit him. Of course, the week it had taken to actually drag Murdoc, Noodle, and 2D to the therapist's office had taken quite a toll on the man. Although, despite taking a stern roll in doing so, Russel had also attempted actually practicing being calm about the situation as well. Murdoc, however, had scrutinized this and had quickly taken the opportunity to try and break Russel as if doing so was a sport. He'd gotten quite good at the game, too. In fact, he'd managed to dodge any sort of confrontation from Russel fairly smoothly over the past seven days. Mentally, Murdoc tallied up the score. Murdoc Niccals: 7; Russel Hobbs: a hilariously pathetic 0.

"I'm sure you can figure it out, Murdoc," Russel said finally in a slight whisper. He spoke from the corner of his mouth so as not to distract the few other patients waiting solemnly in the room around the rest of them. Then, conclusively, he shut his lips and pressed his head backwards, as if speaking at all was too much of a task for him to carry out in the first place.

The green-skinned Satanist smiled cheekily to himself. "Humor me, Big Guy," he continued, thrusting out his arms wildly, "I couldn't possibly think up the answer anyways- not with all this floral fogging me vision, you know? I'm only human, for fuck's sake."

At the vicariously loud choice of words, Russel winced in his falsely peaceful stature. Yet, despite Murdoc's carelessness, he opted to ignore the childish man altogether. Thus, he continued to feign serenity and moved his heavy palm to Noodle's purple head, smoothing away her hair in a fatherly manner before returning back to his personal state of being.

Check. Murdoc counted himself another point before smiling victoriously to himself and returning to the waiting room moodily.

Prideful, Murdoc's slender fingers dug down into the pocket of his old trousers and slipped out his trusty packet of fags. Nonchalantly, he pried the pack open, slipped the half-yellow stick between his eager lips, and lit the thing up with an overjoyed flick of his lighter. There came a heavy huff from across the room and Murdoc's eyes found the frame of a frail old woman seated across from him. She was as old as Death and looked almost statuesque in all her stiff-postured glory. To her disapproval, Murdoc shot her a classy little wink and blew the smoke sideways out of the corner of his snazzy curled up smile. Still, from the other end of Russel, Noodle poked her head out from next to him. Glaring, she gazed ruthlessly at Murdoc's smoldering cigarette. And despite the love Murdoc truly did have for the young girl, he had to admit that she was quite certainly going to loose this battle. But Noodle seemed to realize this too and, bitterly, she slumped back into her own waiting room seat and crossed her own slender arms stiffly across her chest.

Of course, he really had some sort of idea why the drummer had considered therapy to be the only option for the four of them. Somewhere in the man's speech explaining his decision, Murdoc had remembered him mentioning that they didn't get along and far too often butted heads. Russel Hobbs had said someplace in the midst of it all, "Murdoc, you certainly do not help matters," and pointed an accusatory finger straight in Murdoc's direction. Pfft. Help matters? Murdoc Niccals did not need to help any matters. He could run the show as he pleased- this was, in fact, his band. His band, his rules. Why the others did not seem to grasp that concept was a matter that Murdoc could never truly understand. It wasn't as if it was that difficult.

For the second time in the afternoon, Murdoc let his eyes wander the pitiful space. He saw nothing but hopeless souls with the looks of depressed children etched on their faces. The lot of them looked miserable, as if they hadn't smiled in years. And, though Murdoc wasn't particularly against sadness and depression, the notion of self-loathing surely was not his scene. Still, he couldn't overlook the absent figure of the blue haired man in the room, either. With a bitter grumble, Murdoc turned to the ash tray at his left and discarded a hefty amount of ash into it. "Bloody bastard," he grumbled, looking back up at Russel for good measure, "'ey, wot did ol' 2D get a 'get out of jail free' card with this one, hm? I don't see his unfortunate mug around here with us."

Russel's mouth gave a slight jerk. "He's coming," he replied, though he added forcefully, "he'd better be..." much to Murdoc's further appreciation.

If someone as stupid as Stu Pot had figured out that he could just play hooky on this counseling ordeal than he, Murdoc Niccals, had felt like a right moron. Simply not showing up to Russel's therapy ordeal would have been ideal, though Murdoc had been at least smart enough to try and avoid yet another break to his already suffering nose. However, the thought of Stu facing Russel for not showing up gave Murdoc a slight sense of happiness for the time being. Sure, he had to be here- but at least he'd have something worth looking forward to when he'd returned home to Kong in a matter of hours.

However, putting down any sense of future joy towards Murdoc Niccals, the front door of the therapy office building crept open. Russel's eyes apprehensively snapped open and Noodle once again peeked out from behind the barrier of Russel's rounded stomach. In the doorframe, 2D poked his pale face into the room in search of his band mates before turning around quietly and placing the door shut back behind him. Russel growled angrily from his seat in the waiting room and, nervously, 2D's hands plummeted their way into the depths of his trousers.

Quite honestly, 2D looked like a right mess. His shaggy head of uncontrollable blue hair struck out in all different directions and his jeans were rolled up at two different lengths at his shins. He wore a silly striped shirt and looked as if he'd half-assedly thrown over a thin raincoat last minute. However, he sent Russel an apologetic smile before hastily taking his seat next to Murdoc and shakily smoothing the rain from his messy blue hair. "'Bout fucking time, faceache" Murdoc slurred at the slumped over man, who glanced up with another sorry smile. Stuart Pot, slumped in his little chair, stared aghast at his own pair of black and white Saddle Shoes with an eternally sincere grimace that made Murdoc slightly sick.

"I-I over slept. An' then I go' lost," he whispered sincerely, digging his hand out of his pocket. "I wrote the directions on me palm, but the rain washed it off." Then, to further prove that he was telling the truth, 2D pushed his skinny hand out in front of Murdoc, revealing to him the dripping constellation of wet ink that ran down the front of his arm and had begun to bleed against his wrist.

"Idiot," Murdoc hissed, but 2D had fumbled his ink stained hand back into his trouser pocket and tried his best to blend in with the surroundings as fittingly as possible. In all honesty, Murdoc had taken to looking forward to seeing 2D cornered by Russel, and though he'd quite enjoyed the fact that 2D's appearance meant that the singer would, too, suffer, it also meant that Murdoc would not get to have anything to look forward to.

In his quick moment of wonder, Murdoc thought back to the night that Russel had come home with his suggestion of therapy one week ago. Somewhere along the line, Murdoc had managed to give 2D's black eye a matching mate and, all things considered, it might have been what set Russel off in the first place. Though, it had been only one year after they had split up at the hotel room and Murdoc was surprised that the four of them had even found one another again. Besides, after having almost choked 2D to death there, he'd at least have expected Russel to have noted that he had, for the most part, contained himself.

Things had been a bit hostile, admittedly. After the four of them had all returned on their own to Kong, Murdoc's frustration with Russel, Noodle, and especially 2D had grown over the past couple years. And his patience was wearing thin. With their first album out and critically appraised, they'd set out to record 'Demon Days', which was, quite frankly, somewhere between filming music videos and half conceived concepts. Though Murdoc had to admit he'd been impressed with what Noodle had come up with, he was pretty certain that he was about to slowly loose his mind in the process.

And, as always, 2D hadn't been helping the situation, either. What, with the pressure of the new album, his migraines had just about tripled over the past couple of months and that certainly put quite a hold on the band's progression. Though Murdoc had noticed the casual oddities about his other two band mates, as well. Russel had not stopped hallucinating and Noodle had seemed to pick up a slight fancy towards 2D. The poor girl's crush had gone unnoticed, of course, by the half-wit dullard himself. Murdoc, on the other hand, was freshly positive that the lot of them had lost their minds long ago.

But then, perhaps Russel hadn't been far too off his rocker when he'd brought therapy up demandingly. He too had noticed Noodle's fascination with the mindless singer and, though he didn't mention it, it was certainly implied. And, 2D had always probably needed professional help anyways.

Still pitifully grumpy, Murdoc once again returned his focus to the most demented of the three. 2D hadn't looked up from his shoes since he'd pathetically taken his seat with his tail between his legs. "Psst," Murdoc both yelled and whispered dually for the sake of further pissing Russel off, "psst, oi, 'D." The singer glanced up finally, meeting Murdoc's mismatched eyes with his own vacant and black stare. True to the man's character, he seemed truly unfazed by the lit cigarette between Murdoc's fingers and, for that matter, looked upon it with a feeling of slight longing and envy, for he had only just noticed the thing to begin with. Though, Murdoc wasn't about to offer him one and, either way, he knew 2D would have far too much courtesy to smoke it anyways.

Nonetheless, 2D raised his eyebrow and whispered generously, "yeah?"

Murdoc tossed his head to the side, gesturing at the wall clock with full force. "Have any idea 'ow long this is going to take?"

2D shrugged. "I dunno," he replied. "I think Russ said something about it lasting a couple of weeks of somefink..."

Murdoc sighed. "I'm talking about one session, dullard," he bemused, but the blank expression on 2D's rain-splattered face made him drop the subject entirely. Instead, he jabbed up at the wallpaper with the end of his fag and grumbled grittily, "cornflower blue. What kind of moron puts up cornflower blue wallpaper, anyway?"

2D scrutinized the walls. "I dunno," he shrugged, looking back at Murdoc cautiously, "lightens the mood?"

"It sure as hell doesn't lighten the mood," Murdoc huffed in a matter-of-fact sort of manner. "It's depressing! Just like the rest of this putrid joint." Then he lowered his voice to an honest whisper so that only 2D could hear him audibly. He cocked his chin up in the blue haired man's direction and put on a serious face, purely for the sake of messing with him. "In fact, I'd always keep one eye open 'round 'ere if I was you, man," he said slowly. "You never know around these crazies. Next thing you know- bam!- of of 'em whips out a pistol and its six feet under for the likes of you. Dead serious, mate." Stuart Pot stiffened. His pair of black and blue eyes widened and he scanned the wreckage of miserable patients as if he were trying to figure out exactly which one of them would be the first to snap. Finally satisfied to the point of relaxation, Murdoc lifted a hand and clamped it down hard on 2D's shoulder, making the kid wince. "Yep," Murdoc sighed, "one eye open..."

"Watch it, Muds," Russel hissed. He had opened his eyes and had taken to a brand new fit of staring at the pitiful blue wallpaper in front of him.

"Oi, come off it, Russel," Murdoc snapped and, much to his amusement, Russel turned away and balled up his fists rapidly into the thighs of his jeans. Nonetheless, Murdoc turned back to 2D, still ready to have fun with the man's gullibility. Yet he became distracted however, by the small square book that he had not noticed resting in 2D's tight grip. Instantly, Murdoc recognized it as 2D's diary. The private booklet was something that Murdoc had skimmed through on multiple occasions without 2D's knowledge, of course. From it, Murdoc had managed to find out a multitude of valuable information about the singer and, due to 2D's continual unawareness, the book had still come in handy whenever Murdoc needed something spectacular to frighten him with. Murdoc made a swift little grab in 2D's direction and lifted the book from his possession immediately. Analyzing it, he asked, "you brought your diary?"

Fumbling, Stuart leaned over, making unsuccessful grabs towards his personal book and missing consistently. Sheepish, he gave up trying to grab the thing and awkwardly let Murdoc fiddle with the locked strap running across the circumference of it. "Well, yeah," he admitted, feeling safe that the key to open it was tucked away safely inside the interior pocket of his raincoat. "Jus' in case I forget something or wan' to write anything down..."

Murdoc sighed. Unamused, he tossed the book back in 2D's direction and gave him a sarcastic glare. "You're not suggesting that you're goin' ta take this whole 'therapy' business seriously, are you?"

Slipping, 2D's face fell. He seemed to consider his options and then asked innocently, "but, Muds, 'ow else am I supposed ta take it?"

"Do you even know what therapy is, Two Dents?"

"Well, yeah," 2D bemused. "I 'ad ta go ta therapy for three months after I woke up from that coma ta learn 'ow to use my legs and everyfing..."

Murdoc Niccals, he thrust his newly throbbing head into the palms of his hands and ran them over the front of his green face. "Shit," he mumbled to himself, ignoring the confused 2D at his side. "For fuck's sake..." At first he was certain he could handle a couple of weeks worth of therapy with Noodle and Russel, but sharing a room for hours on end with 2D was going to be a bit of an issue. He mentally kicked himself for even showing up at the building in the first place, despite knowing that Russel Hobbs would have absolutely murdered him if he didn't. Besides, the big man had paid to fly them out there once he'd heard of this therapist, this Dr. Bote.

Over the flight, Russel hadn't stopped talking about Bote, either. Apparently, the man was the best of his kind and that he'd been recommended by thousands. And since Gorillaz certainly had garnered enough money to pay for his services, Russel had wasted no time in booking him. In reality, Murdoc found it all immensely stupid. He'd called the entire outburst a waste of valuable time, and almost found himself missing even the rotting corpses back at Kong. Thus, they'd spent the night in their own hotel rooms and planned to meet one another at the office in the early morning. Murdoc goraned continuously; this whole damn thing was turning out to be a bloody spectacle. Certainly the rest of his band members needed some find tuning, but he, Murdoc Niccals, he was golden. What the fuck was he doing in the God forsaken place?

The door opposite the four creaked open and Murdoc glanced up from the tiny spaces between his finger tips. Russel's eyes cracked open and Noodle sat up straight at the edge of the chair she had been previously slouching in. At his side, 2D jumped up wildly as if someone in the room had made a move to draw out a weapon. Instinctively, Murdoc thrust his smoking cigarette into the ashtray and outed it on impact. But his rash actions went rather unnoticed as the shadow didn't move at the door in front of them. "Mr. Hobbs?" the voice at the threshold croaked, revealing itself to be not a deranged psychopath, but their pudgy figure of a therapist.

Dressed in a tacky button up suit, clad with a lame combover, Murdoc felt the urge to both laugh at the man, and hurl the little ash tray at him. He looked like a mixture of a madman himself, and a pompous little shit. In a matter of moments, Murdoc's guilty expression shifted back to a familiarly unfriendly scowl. "Mr. Niccals, Noodle, Mr. Pot," the heavy-set man exclaimed softly, "if you'll come in please." Then he took a slightly excessive amount of steps backwards into his office and gestured out his hands towards the four of them.

Murdoc groaned slightly to himself, "I'd rather not," and Russel made a fast grab towards the back of his shirt, hoisting him to his feet responsively.

In a line, with Russel in the far lead, Murdoc and the others followed groggily. But even from the center of the miserable parade, Murdoc could see the finches behind Russel's white eyes and noted intelligently that he was already beginning to spot ghosts in the lingeringly pathetic cornflower walls. Dually, the eyes in the back of his head could spot Noodle. Every so often in their short step into the depths of the office, she would glance back towards 2D and offer him a helpful smile. She did not notice, however, 2D wince with the onset of a headache, and pop a handful of multicolored painkillers into his quivering mouth.

Thus, Murdoc looked back into the blackness that was soon to be Bote's office space. Perhaps Russel was right on one thing, and one thing only. All things considered, perhaps the lot of them did need a bit of help after all.