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The expanse around her was so vast that it could have been mistaken for outer space itself.
The water moved in slow, patient swells beneath the liferaft, black and endless, reflecting a sky bruised purple instead of black. It felt less like an ocean and more like drifting between worlds — suspended, untethered.
And the stars….
They glowed in a way Noodle had never seen, nothing so vivid was above the cloudy smog covered skies of Kong.
When she was small, she used to feel as if the sky above Kong was so expansive, incomprehensible in size.
But she wasn’t small anymore. And this was not Kong.
Still learning English from cue cards and television reruns. Still small enough that her feet didn’t quite touch the floor when she sat on the amp in the practice room. Small enough that Murdoc would bark at anyone who looked at her too long.
She remembers once — some industry sleazeball backstage, hand lingering where it shouldn’t. She hadn’t even understood what the man was doing wrong.
Murdoc had.
There had been swift punch, and then a crack of teeth against concrete, blood on the stone.
2D sighing dramatically while digging through his wallet. “S’gonna cost us, that will…”
Murdoc had just wiped his knuckles on his shirt and snarled something about respect.
Back then, she had thought he was invincible.
But–He was always bad. Maybe she just never understood.
But if he was always bad, than none of this should be as hard as it was.
The raft shifted beneath her as she rolled onto her side and pushed herself up, wrapping her arms loosely around her knees. The night air was cool against her skin.
She turned her face toward the water, without the mask.
The moon hung heavy above, silver and overwhelming in size, casting a pale path across the surface of the impossibly dark water.
In the deep black abyss beneath her, her reflection trembled — distorted by every small movement of the tide.
It would have been easier if he had only ever been cruel. If every memory of him had smelled like cheap rum and stale cigarettes, like shouting echoing down Kong’s cracked hallways, like doors slamming hard enough to rattle dust from the ceiling.
But for Noodle, that had never been entirely true.
He’d supported her ideas, gone toe to toe with record execs and producers to push her visions.
His finest instance of advocating for her had been Demon Days, of course.
But even before Self Titled had released, even when she hadn’t been sure what he was even saying when he angrily snarled and gestured to the men in suits who had invaded their studio. She did recognize when he’d asked her to play, a rift she’d come up on her own.
She played, he gestured wide to the men in suits.
After some more arguing, the suits agreed, that had been the beginning of it all–her place in the creative process.
She remembered how she’d sit on his knee in those firs few interviews. How he’d laugh and how she’d mimic it.
He’d raised her into how to construct the creative process. A process that would have an affect on people, a process which produced the greatest beauties that could be consumed–art. Real, raw, art.
But now, Murdoc had taken that process all to himself.
He had built a kingdom of plastic in the middle of the sea, towering and hollow and gleaming with artificial light. He had locked himself inside it like a king terrified of losing his throne. He had taken 2D against his will, dragging him into that artificial empire as though possession were the same thing as protection.
She did not know what had become of Russel.
The not knowing hollowed something inside her.
The raft rocked gently beneath her, the vastness of the ocean pressing in from all sides.
The same hands that had once shoved doors open for her had slammed them shut instead. The same voice that had demanded the world listen to her had drowned her out entirely.
Looking into the dark water, she felt her lip quiver despite herself.
Her reflection shimmered — older, sharper, no longer the child who had needed someone to fight her battles.
No longer the little girl who looked up to that man like he was something anymore than the poison within him. That little girl that trusted him with everything. That little girl who nearly died on a flying island because of his greed. His carelessness.
The ocean swallowed her image and reshaped it again.
Looking into that water, she knew she’d never be that little girl again.
The scenery was beautiful. More beauty than Murdoc had even enjoyed.
More beauty that he knew he deserved.
They’d been lazying being rowed through a river in a picturesque jungle.
India was Noodle’s idea–all he’d done was agree and secure the fake passports.
Running a cult, it turns out, usually puts you in hot water with the FBI.
Murdoc stared down at his own reflection in that breathtakingly blue water.
He kept looking, even as Noodle stood and put her boot on the edge of the boat.
The boat rocked, Murdoc’s reflection responded to the ripples. For just a moment, he saw a younger man. A man you had made mistakes, a man who was bad, but a man who had done less of those things.
“I love you.” He heard Noodle say to 2D and Russel.
And then, she jumped.
Beginning to sink downwards and downwards into the abyss.
He’d wanted to reach out and grab her. Reach out and tell her how he loved her–loved her like a daughter.
Beg her to say she loved him too.
But he knew, knew how she felt about him at this stage of their lives.
He was always bad, maybe she just didn’t understand...for a time.
But if he was always bad, than none of this should be as hard as it was.
He never deserved anything she’d ever given him. Never deserved her kindness, patience, care,
Love.
He remembered an incident when she was no older than ten, recalled it as he saw her sink down, as he saw his other band members take the plunge too.
She’d poured out all his booze. She thought she was helping, had read online about the dangers in overindulgence of such a poison.
He’d been furious.
He almost–
He didn’t even want to think of it. He didn’t do it of course.
He’d tried, tried so hard to never treat her like his father had treated him.
He’d failed.
He’d succeeded physically, but had failed totally and completely at the emotional aspect.
Blokes like him just were not goo at such a thing.
After the storm, as he heard little socked feet pad out of the kitchen, confused.
She’d turn back to him, small hand holding onto the door frame.
“Murdoc?” she’d said
“Yeah?” He replied, hoarsely
“I love you.”
Three simple words. Three words said over two decades ago.
She hadn’t said that to him in years now.
Looking down at her from the surface, watching her figure begin to disappear into the depths.
He knew she’d never look up to him again.
He knew that she would never hold that same space in her heart.
In that moment that he saw her fully disappear into the ink of the river, as he struggled to see her past his own awful, ugly reflection–a reflection which represented his insides just as much as his outsides.
He knew, knew that she’d never be that little girl again.