Chapter 9

a/n: the Arrested Development reference used here belongs to Mitchell Hurwitz and the other writers of the late, great tv show.

Chapter 9

Murdoc raised his head to find himself surrounded by pitch blackness. "Hello?" he croaked, his throat irritated by dust from the building rubble. He then sat, waiting and listening for the sound of breathing or movement, but heard nothing.

"Shit, I'm probably dead and this is the afterlife." He sighed and began to pace impatiently. Goddamn zombies, bloody ghost: he probably got them into this, it was probably a trap. Suddenly, a bright light filled the room as a long silhouette stepped into view. "Russ, 2-D?" His voice was trembling now. Then came the sound of footsteps, but it was too dark for him to identify anyone. All he could do know was wander around in hopes that he'd find the door. Unfortunately, it was too late: a cold hand gripped his neck, the fingers slowly tightening around his throat. Suddenly, there was a familiar sounding yelp followed by a crash that sent him hurdling to the floor, knocking him out cold again.



"Are you okay? Wake up."

He squinted to see Russel standing over him, looking very concerned

"Am I in two thirds of a hospital room?" he asked groggily


Murdoc shook his head, sitting up slightly"Never mind, what happened?"

"You suffered a really bad concussion right when Noodle destroyed the hell hole. A giant piece of rubble crashed right onto your head."

" Are Noodle and 2-D okay?"

"They were here yesterday, but left shortly after seeing that you were still in a coma."

Another man then entered the room. "Mr. Hobbs," he asked, "can you please leave the room for a few minutes? I'd like to check up on your friend here." The doctor, a tall grey haired man then glanced down at him. "Hello there Mr. Niccals, my name is Dr. Griffin. I'm the one who's been looking after you for the two days."

"I've been out for two days? Jesus Christ."

"Yes, but I'm glad to say you've slowly been improving, you should be able to return home on Monday." He glanced at his clipboard. "Are you feeing okay? Any really bad aches or pains?"

"I'm really tired, but nothing feels too bad."

"Good to hear, but I'd like to keep you for observation for at least one more day, just in case."

"Righto." Murdoc then glanced at his bedside table in bewilderment. "Where are my cigarettes?"

"Er, I thought you were aware that smoking in the hospital is permitted."

The ailing bassist just scowled and rolled onto his side.

"Doctor?" he muttered


"Fuck you."