Disclaimer: I own the plot, but 2D, Murdoc, Noodle, and Russel are not my property.

This is my first lengthy Gorillaz story, so it'll be my first with recurring themes and symbolism. It's very much a work in progress, so feel free to give me all the constructive criticism (and flames) that you wish.

The next chapter will probably end up being longer (and no, this is not a fancharacter story. The fangirl is just a plot device).

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"2D? Is that you?" an excited voice asked. Turning around at the mention of his nickname, Stuart found himself face to face with a short blonde teenager, blue eyes sparkling with excitement. She couldn't have been more than fourteen, and only reached up to the middle of his ribcage, an excited, sunny ball of fanatic energy. He beamed down at her and nodded.

"Yep," he said happily. The girl looked as though she would burst with excitement, and it brought him back fondly to times in his teenage years when he had met his favorite band backstage. Simply being in their presence had made him feel like a higher being, like he had a more meaningful reason for existence, and for that one moment, he had felt that much closer to the top, to that glittering rainbow called fame that constantly eluded his grasp, inches from his outstretched fingertips. He got a rush of that feeling back now in a wave of nostalgia as he regarded the fan hovering somewhere below. He gave her a smile as the train slowed to a halt at his stop.

"Can I have your autograph?" she asked hopefully, producing a scrap of paper and a pen from her shoulder bag, her hands trembling with electric exhilaration as she held them out to the blue-haired singer . Grinning, Stuart took them from her and removed the pen's cap.

"Well 'course you can!" he said jovially, beginning to scratch his usual signature onto the paper. "An' who should I make this out to?"

"Cindy," the girl squeaked, shuffling her feet nervously. "I just love your music. It's like listening to your soul through headphones."

"well 'fanks," Stuart couldn't help but enjoy compliments, no matter how many times they came. Over the years, he saw others become immune to respects about their music, as though they were old news and didn't count anymore, paling in comparison to favorable press reviews. That electric enthusiasm never failed to fill him, though, and it was better than candy and drugs every time. "I'm glad you feel somefin' strong abou' it."

A bit of the girl's shyness drained away and she gave him a more confident smile. "Your new album is amazing. I really loved your work with Gorillaz, too!"

Stuart's hand froze on the paper at the mention of his former band for a moment, and then he finished penning an encouraging message with a shaky hand and handed Cindy the paper with another smile, his body feeling as though it had gone through a series of electric shocks. "Here you go, luv. Well, this is my stop so I should be gettin' off. It was nice meeting you!" with a small wave, he grabbed his bag and wound his way toward the door of the train, still shaking considerably, the flickering electric lights of the subway accenting his trembling. Finally, outside in the tunnel, in the cold air, the stuffy feeling of the train drained away and he began to walk quickly.

Gorillaz

He quickened his pace. The mere mention of the word brought back far too many memories for comfort. That one word held so much meaning, more than any other word in his vocabulary. It meant Kong Studios, rainy Essex days without any means of escape, it meant the bitter, grueling hours spent over a keyboard hunting for just the right notes to make the music perfect… but not just perfect… Gorillaz-perfect, which was a far higher standard than normal perfection, though far more varied and open. And that word meant, more than anything else, three names. Noodle. Russel. Murdoc.

Noodle. Stuart was always in touch with Noodle, and was currently living with her and her boyfriend of several years, Toby. The three of them had formed an experimental, provisional band, which Stuart had dubbed "Cortez" as a silent tribute to the past he rarely liked to venture into. It was mostly a way to explore new styles of music, now that Gorillaz no longer acted as a vessel for their musical release. He and Noodle were a tightly-knit little partnership, often staying up late into the night sharing musical inspirations and hopes for the future. He knew that Noodle would go far, and probably even surpass the things she told him she wanted to achieve. Their present gig playing in night clubs had not become anything more yet, though since the breakup of Gorillaz, Noodle had been bombarded with offers from record companies left and right. She would just smile in her wise way and say "I will do something for my career when the time is right" and leave it at that. She had always been that way, mysterious without being eerie, wise despite how young she was. She had recently turned nineteen, and spoke with more insight than most adults that he had met. At her age Stuart would have leaped at every record contract offer he was and signed his life away immediately. The prospect of a solo career did not phase Noodle at all, and she approached the subject coolly, telling everyone that she would know when it was time to act upon the offers. People seemed perplexed as to why she didn't do something professional with her music.

"We have all gone our separate ways. There will never be another Gorillaz," she often said when pounced upon by press asking why they did not choose to recreate the band. "It's a part of our past now. 2D has his own career now, and Cortez is temporary." The band was a shaky thing, but the two remained as close as ever.

Russel, though he had moved back to New York, kept in touch. He contacted them weekly, and flew in to visit on occasion. Russel had been married nearly two years now, and provided percussion for a band called Viper. Last Stuart had heard, they were being looked at for a contract by a very notable record company. He often spent evenings musing about everything from politics to bigfoot on the phone with Stuart. They talked more now than they ever had when they resided at Kong, and, despite his distance from them, he remained as much a part of the group as ever.

And then there was Murdoc.

Murdoc didn't live far away. Distance wasn't a factor at all. He had moved back to Stoke immediately after Gorillaz disbanded. None of them had heard a word out of the bitter Satanist since the fateful night when everything fell apart. Stuart liked to entertain himself with the thought that Murdoc had been enjoying himself with a pottery wheel for all these years, but he had guessed that it was certainly not the case. The distance of years between the other three and Murdoc hurt Stuart, but what hurt him far more was Murdoc's silence. His cold, bitter silence. He had always been hurt by Murdoc's silence, even when the four lived together. The way those cold, mismatched eyes bored into him wordlessly, refusing to answer his pleas for some sign of companionship that the bassist had always denied him. He knew they were mates; that much was always clear to both of them. But toward the end, their friendship had grown cold and bitter just like Murdoc, and Stuart blamed himself for the end of Gorillaz by desperately seeking the reason.

Wrapping the thin jacket a little tighter around his lanky body against the wet gale that pushed on his back, he pressed onward, looking forward to a cup of tea when he reached the flat. It was a long walk, but normally he didn't mind it. Today was different. The evening was cold even for November, and the force of the wind was not what he had expected. It had been considerably more pleasant when he'd first left the recording studio and boarded the subway. He wished bitterly that he'd brought an umbrella, hunching down against the wind and walking quickly, hoping to reach home before he got completely soaked. Turning left quickly onto the less-traveled, knobby dirty road that would take him home quicker, he quickened his pace, feet skittering across the rapidly muddying ground. Mud began to mix with dead leaves, turning everything into a doughy, soggy mess beneath his feet.

He had been so caught up in paying attention to where he put his feet that he had not paid attention to his surroundings until now, and he happened to look up at that moment, realizing that he had turned off of the path and was heading up off of it through the mud that was not marred by stray tire tracks. He looked up just in time to avoid running into a wrought-iron gate. Wiping his forehead free of rain and cold sweat, he looked up. The gate was massive, set between two large stone pillars, the dark iron bars bent and misshapen, pointed tips reaching toward the sky like grisly claws. That gate held him back from what was within, blocking him with a iron force that was too much to overcome.

Welded onto the front of the gate with strips of metal was a single word, one that opened floodgates of memories and left Stuart's knees shaking. KONG.

Stuart slumped against the gate, wrapping his thin, cold hands around the bars and staring through the gaps between into the muddy, barren graveyard within. It stretched as far as he could see, horizon dotted with the gravestones, ranging from ornate to uniform. A few hundred yards away, the flat landscape was broken by a hill, the dismal Kong Studios perched on top like some sort of hallowed, dilapidated sanctuary. Even in the distance, he could see that the building was worse for wear, having been abandoned for the past four years; no one but the ambitious band called Gorillaz that had once inhabited it was willing to reside in its zombie-infested depths.

He had been trying to avoid this place for four years.

It looked just as it had that night. As he stood there, the cold and the wind, the wet and the discomfort melted away. He was left with only the memory, barely conscious of the world around him, surrendering to the thoughts of times passed. There was no more rain, no more mud, no more world. There was only the memory…