The pillow hits his face before he’s even opened his eyes. A muffled grunt and a swat at the air are the first things you get in return.

“What the hell…?!” his voice is hoarse, dragged down by sleep.

You take a step back, clutching the pillow as if it were an improvised weapon. You don’t know why you did it. You don’t really know anything, in fact. Not who you are, not what you’re doing here… only that he was asleep and something in you decided he had to wake up.

Damon slowly sits up, hair tousled and a confused grimace on his face. His eyes take a few seconds to focus on you… and then they stop.

“No…” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “This is impossible.”

His gaze sweeps over you: the white bondage suit wrapping you in strips, leaving gaps where fabric should be, as if you were a half-finished sketch.

You recognize that look. The one of someone staring at their own creation… and wondering why it’s breathing. Because that’s what you are: a strange sketch he once made and that never appeared in Gorillaz. An experiment, a discarded idea. A character with no story, no personality. Defective.

“I… didn’t finish you,” he says, more firmly this time, but without moving.