Psychic City- Well, first fanfiction ever and I'd love to know your opinions on it. So, have at it, of course.


Chapter One:
D-Day

"Hello, sir! May I help you?"

"Shit."

Murdoc Niccals- dark, shadowy, and a bit stoned- stood unmoving in his spot. He had been leaning against the shelves of the dingy little music shop, stuffing an endless supply of guitar picks into his trouser pockets when he'd heard the Cockney voice sound out from behind him. His fingers faltered, sending a cluster of the picks to the floor, which he hastily kicked under the counter with a flick of his scuffed Cuban boots. When he'd decided to scrutinize the music shop that he'd only later planned on robbing, he had not anticipated on actually having to deal with any employees. He stuffed his hands further into the depths of his pockets, swore fiercely at the blank wall ahead of him, and spun around sharply.

However, a new sense of amusement came graciously to him at the sight of the approaching Saturday boy. Far too pretty to be a male, and yet far too lanky to be a female, the nearing figure approached peppily with a smile on his pale face. Murdoc squinted vibrantly, staring obviously at this head of azure blue hair and the pathetic white button-up the kid had tried to appear professional in. He suppressed a fit of uncontrollable laughter and instead gestured out his hands curiously. "What's this?" he asked, a red tint of enjoyment overtaking his pale green face. "What am I looking at?"

The gangly employee glanced down at himself, taking in his own lengthy black tie, and his shirt that had been properly tucked into a pair of matching black trousers. He stood still for a moment and Murdoc relished in the realization that the kid had not noticed the pile of picks still present on the floor. Nonetheless, he stood uneasily, not quite sure if the man was trying to be friendly to him or if he was being made fun of. "... What're you...?" the kid blinked, and Murdoc only leaned back against the counter steadily.

Murdoc's finger traced the kid up and down, a smile overtaking his otherwise pitiful face. "I'm gonna tell you something, mate," he said, perhaps both stoned and drunk, "this get-up you've got going on- your erm, look- it sure made my day."

"Get up?" Blinked the blue-haired figure, who couldn't have been a day older than twenty. However, reanalyzing the kid, Murdoc decided he may have even been perhaps younger. He shook his head: kids these days? Didn't the own a mirror?

"Got everything alright over here, Stu?" A voice from the distance cut Murdoc short in his spurts of laughter. He pried open his eyes, only to see a large figure of a man in the near distance. His white shirt fit him more suitably than the boy's and, by the looks of his shiny gold name tag, he had the appearance of a professional. Murdoc grimaced, wiping the devious smile off of his face instantly and swept the last of the guitar picks under the shelves before glancing back up the meet the stout man in the eyes.

Short and overweight, the balding man's name tag read 'Norm' and Murdoc swore for a third time under his liquor laced breath. But Norm was already swooping forward. He wore a suspicious smile as he advanced, clamping a hand down on the blue boy's slender shoulder. The kid huffed on impact, though returned his boss' gesture with a stupid-looking smile. "Looking for anything in particular, sir?" Norm questioned, his hand still resting atop the kid's slumped shoulder. "If you were looking for anything in particular, I'm sure Stuart here could help you out."

Stuart's smile remained and Murdoc felt a twinge of annoyance churn in the pit of his empty stomach. Twat.

His mind raced. He perhaps even appeared more anxious than he had anticipated, though further took the swell of emotions to have been caused by the liquor. Regaining himself, he straightened up and took back on the stature of being somewhat composed. With a standard looking stance, he readjusted his posture and cast his eyes around the shop delicately. "Yeah," he said soothingly, to further wiggle himself out of any suspicious hole he'd previously thrust himself into, "actually, I was just looking at the keyboards over there..."

"Perfect!" Sang Norm, clamping the boy, apparently Stu, even harder on the shoulder. Murdoc glared pitifully at the two of them and decided that he couldn't wait to steal every single instrument out of Uncle Norm's annoying little shop. He imagined the man's cheerful face melting at the sight of whatever remained of it the day after, and the thought of it brought a mistakenly friendly smile to his green tinted face. "Stuart can show you the keyboards, alright. He's a natural, aren't you, Stu?"

Stuart scraped his polished black shoe at the top of the carpeted floor. He turned a bit red and said modestly, "I dabble."

Norm's face perked up. He peered at Murdoc as if they'd been long time friends. "He dabbles!" he exclaimed as if he couldn't believe it, "listen to that. 'I dabble', he says. Can you believe it?"

Murdoc's face soured. "Hilarious," he quipped, and Norm wiped the escaping spit from his disgusting black hole of a mouth. He looped a greasy hand around Murdoc, making him squirm, and led the two over to the row of keyboards that he'd had displayed neared the bag. He forced both the boys in front of the instruments, held out his hands like a God, and stood proudly over them with a happy smile. Snake-like, Murdoc slid out from under the big man's grip and glanced back out at the soggy streets before him. A slight rain had started out in front of him, and the sky now looked an impossible shade of melancholy.

"Well, Stuart," Norm said, this time patting Murdoc on the back and making him cough, "it's all you, kid." With that, he lumbered out of sight, back into the desolate music shop, with his eyes greedily eyeing the spare customers in the front.

Murdoc smoothed back out his head of messy black hair, rolling his eyes and considering when it might be the best time to stride back out the front door. He glanced up; Stuart looked attentively back at him, an awkwardly shy expression on his face, as if he hadn't possessed a clue on how to start a conversation about keyboards. For the sake of playing the part of the curious shopper, Murdoc flatly started off the conversation. He placed one hand on the key and played a three note little tune without much hesitation. When he drew back, he said without much enthusiasm, "which one of these babies is the best to make off with?"

Stu's face crunched up slightly. With a persistent tone that was all the more annoyingly friendly, he asked, "make off with?"

"Let's just say I were in a hurry, Stu," Murdoc drawled, "and I had to grab one of these keyboards quickly without much thought, huh? Which one should I make off with?" Then, carelessly, he shrugged up his shoulders. "Hypothetically speaking."

The kid, with his silly polished outfit and his shaggy head of distracting blue hair glanced back at the keyboards before looking back up at Murdoc. Still, he remained unsure as to how to even start to answer the question and, moronically, came back with only, "erm?"

Murdoc lifted a hand, eyes narrowing down at the dumbfounded Stuart with a vision that was all the less impressed. "Don't hurt yourself, kid," he replied, and lifted the collar of his dark black raincoat as he prepared to exit through the front door.

"Wait!"

The timid voice of the heavily accented sales boy made Murdoc stop in his tracks. He turned slightly on his clunky heels and only managed to lift a brow, despite his obvious rush to leave the store as soon as possible. "What do you want, kid?" he asked mildly, watching Stu as he glared back down at the keyboards. "I'm in a hurry and, believe it or not, I don't have all day."

Stuart reached at the back of his pocket, withdrew a card and shifted his long legs. He walked back towards Murdoc with a fit of strides and his nervous twitch of a smile crawled back to his otherwise slightly perplexed visage. "Norm's business card," he said finally outstretching a thin hand and offering the paper contact card in Murdoc's direction. "If you call and ask for Stuart Pot, I can help you with your keyboard questions. I give lessons-"

"Cute," Murdoc sneered, watching the boy uselessly hover. Keyboard lessons? Clearly he was not just stupid. He was out of his fucking mind. "But I'll have to pass, Stu."

Stuart Pot's face, it fell slightly and then reddened, mildly embarrassed. "Oh," he said awkwardly, "okay. Er..." and then, whimsically he drifted off, slinking back into the rows of monotonous keyboards, only to stare blankly off into the rainy distance.

Thus Murdoc refastened his collar and made his way back out the door. Sure, the booze had been setting in on him even more obviously now and, with a blatant sway in his step, he passed back down the gray sidewalk out into the bleak afternoon. From his pocket he pulled out his checklist- somewhat of a shopping list for the things that he knew he would now nab from Uncle Norm's. Then, with a jungle of his car keys, he mounted back up the hill to where he'd parked his car, flopped back down in the driver's seat, and waited.

"Got what you needed, Muds?" came the sly voice belonging to the passenger, but Murdoc didn't move to glance over at him. Instead, he flicked up a new cigarette and pried it between his thin lips. He reached down by his feet and brought out the newfound bottle of liquor he'd brought along with him, just incase. He didn't have to answer his darkly dressed drone, who sported a malicious smile behind the dark mask over his grimy face. Of course he had gotten what he'd needed. Now it was only just a matter of time.


10:00 pm

Murdoc Niccals was seated slumped in the drivers seat with his eyes pressed shut from a drunken sleep he'd only just awoken from. Other than the street lights of the car park, the shadowy night before him remained as deep as ever. He breathed in, thrusting the empty liquor bottle out of the window before jamming the car keys into the ready ignition. A dual pair of headlights shone across the night sky, igniting the space out in front of the four burglars in the car. Though, perhaps it was because of the liquor, Murdoc was almost completely unaware of the speed the shitty machine had now taken up. Through the black night they rode, surpassing the remaining cars in the lot and only barely missing them by inches.

They jolted forward, the four of them all whooping with anticipation. The car struck the mound of the hill, sending them up and skyrocketing, fully airborne. They flew straight through it, too; the glass encased window of Uncle Norm's stupid little music shop. It came heavily with the shattering mirror sound of broken glass, jolting the two pairs of men up from their seats. Though still in a haze, Murdoc heard the sound of the passenger door swinging open, followed by those in the back. Their scattered footsteps broke out around him and, huffing, he knew that it was his time to get up.

Though the daze of liquor did not help much to advance him in his hovering step. He breathed in the stale air of the shop that he had only just hours ago spent a pointless amount of time scrutinizing. He slammed his tired leg outward, ignoring the tingle of sleep that had blatantly overtook it. Although something new made him stumble. Perhaps it was only an illusion, but something dark and chocking lay in a crumpled mess by his feet. He could hear the rough inhaling sounds emit from the ground below him and, reeling back with his own curiosity, he leaned forward into the light of his car's head beams to garner a better look. Squinting, Murdoc made out the nice white shit, illuminated by the enveloping darkness around him. He then saw the shine of the polished dress shoes out in front of him. And, of course, by the white light of his now smoking car, he finally saw the figure's messy head of impossibly blue hair.

"Shit," he swore blankly.

A loud clatter of falling metal rung loud in Murdoc's irritable ears. There, in the distance of the shop, stood the figure of one of his men, though his eyes were too hazy to be able to tell which one it had been. He noticed the dropped instruments on the floor and was rather annoyed when the men only lifted his shaking finger and pointed back down at the lump. "What the fuck is that?" he asked, horrified at the amount of blood that poured through the white shirt of the gasping kid.

Murdoc Niccals peered forward. The figure's eyes were only half-way back in his head and his eyes seemed unsure as to whether or not they wanted to remain open or shut. A crimson red trail of leaky blood rolled out from the corner of his left eye, which seemed to have vanished completely. Yet the unmistakable sounds of the kid's gasping breath echoed out through the dingy shop. Murdoc blinked slightly. Now he was one hundred percent sure. "That," he said matter-of-factly, "is Stuart Pot."

"You've killed him!" Came a second voice, much more distressed and high-pitched than the other. The shadowy figure of the second man had been, of course, much closer to Stu's unsightly body, thus revealing to him far more of the disturbing scene.

But Murdoc didn't say a word. Instead his eyes found something far more horrifying: a single blinking red light up in the corner by the right of the ceiling. The three other men allowed their eyes to follow, only minutely taking their gaze off of the suffering Stuart Pot. "Shit," croaked one of the men, who had also dropped the pile of instruments he'd been carrying, "the alarm!" Then, on fast feet, he bolted back out from the scene, holding tightly onto his face mask as he sprinted.

And when only Murdoc remained, he could feel himself slipping. The liquor, perhaps he'd had too much. However, Murdoc couldn't quite manage to even lift his own feet. So dizzy was his stance that all he could manage to do was stare back down at Stu, watch him attempt to breathe in a panicked sort of desperate way. Though, despite himself, he noticed the cocky way in which the kid's legs were twisted, the pathetic way in which he tried to cling onto consciousness, and he felt a tinge of oncoming laughter tickle him instantly. And, come on, the kid's hair was blue, for fuck's sake.

Murdoc Niccals' fits of laughter came out whether or not he'd really liked for it to. He clung to the hood of the car, hugged himself tightly in the stomach. He laughed until he heard the sirens of the police roll around the corner, laughed until the inside of the music shop came alive with the colors of red and blue. Only did he stop when he felt the clams of metal tighten around his wrists, when the hordes of policemen stood stunned at the sight of Stu on the floor beneath them. Then he was shoved into the cop car.

Only then, when he felt the cop car drive down the street and away from the music shop, did he not quite find it funny.