Chapter 1: Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Gorillaz

WARNING: violence in this chapter

The air was filled with warmth, dim light, and the soft chatter of pub-goers. The Tipsy Terrier was always full on Friday nights, but since the bar staff knew me well, there would always be two stools reserved by the counter when I arrived at around 8pm. It was now 8:15 and I was on my stool, bathed in the warm yellow lamplight with a glass of liquor in my hand and my girlfriend at my side.

I raised the amber fluid to my lips. I could hear the drink slosh as the liquor spilled into my mouth, burned a path down my throat and filled my stomach with warmth. I could feel it rushing through my blood, hot and exciting, almost as warm as the feeling of my girlfriend pressed into my side, so close that she was more on my bar stool than on her own. I could feel her fingertips running up and down my arm as I downed the glass, her nose nuzzling into my neck and her dark hair spilling over my shoulder.

"What, not going to save any for me?" she simpered, her lips rising to my ear as she pretended to sound hurt.

I chuckled, shaking my head slightly before raising my eyes to meet the grinning barkeep. "Hey, Louis, can we get two refills over here? Spanish brown?"

"With that lady of yours?" He laughed jovially. "Mr. Pot, every time you bring Miss Cracker here with you, you end up buying at least three glasses, each. May I recommend simply buying a whole bottle?"

I smiled back at him as my own laugh bubbled up from my chest to join his. "Sounds like good advice to me. I'll take it. Thanks, Lou!"

"No problem!" He replied as he scanned his shelves. I watched, fascinated, as the earthy liquid hues reflected off his rich brown eyes.

I always thought his eyes suited him well, dark and shining like the liquid he served, warm and laughing like his personality. There's a lot of beauty in eyes. In some more than others, admittedly. They hold something interesting, something worth observing. As an artist (a musical artist, yes, but still able to appreciate visual art), I found great pleasure and inspiration when looking into people's eyes. My favorite set of eyes, of course, belonged to my girlfriend, Paula. Sometimes I wondered what she saw in my eyes.

After a moment's consideration, Louis plucked a bottle of dark, mahogany-colored liquor from his collection. The deep shades rippled and swirled in their disturbed container, glowing in the pub's warm lamplight. I felt my mouth water - It looked good. "I think you'll like this one, Mr. Pot. You and your girl. It's smooth like you, but with a bit of a bite like her."

Paula snapped her teeth close to my ear, a playful purr escaping her lips. I felt my skin tingle at the feeling of her breath, the vibrations of her hum shivering through my ear, her lips so close. She whispered, her voice velvety and coy, "What do you think, Stu? Can you handle a drink that resembles me so much?"

I turned to face her, my eyes locking with hers as my lips curled into a confident grin. "Love, there's nothing I can't handle." I leaned forward, pressing a light but lingering kiss just above her lips, just beside her mole. Pulling back, I reveled in the sight of her, my girl, her eyes rising to meet mine, clear and intense.

Her eyes were hypnotizing. Her pupils dilated like the windows to her soul opening, and beyond the reflection of my own mesmerized face I saw fire. Dark fire. Her fire. It swirled wildly, reaching out with hot tongues, ready to burn me should I lean closer, fall in. A bit scary, yeah, but even so, I sure wish I could fall in to her eyes. I was well under her spell and I knew it. I loved it.

Without turning away, I called to Lou, "Yeah, we'll take that bottle. Thanks for the recommendation."

Paula grinned up at me, the flames in her eyes swaying as if they wanted to spread, to set this whole place on fire. To set me on fire. I could practically feel my mind burning, my pulse jumping like a spark. Her lips parted leisurely, and she teased, "A whole bottle for me? Now we're talking."

"Hey now, love, we're sharing," I snickered, "although, it might be entertaining to see you down a whole bottle in one go. Think you can?" I could hear Louis chuckling at our antics as he set the bottle between us.

Paula released a long sigh. "Well, since you're paying, I should probably let you have a taste. But you bet I'll be the one drinking most of this bottle."

I dipped my head and took her hand dramatically. "Thank you so much, miss Paula, for granting me permission to have a taste of the alcohol which I will be paying for. Your graciousness is beyond words."

That earned a raucous laugh from my girlfriend, her eyes scrunching up with mirth. While she struggled to regain her composure, I pulled my wallet out of my pocket and presented my credit card to Louis. "Here, charge whatever the drink costs, and a 20% tip on top of that. Thanks again for the advice."

"No, thank you, Mr. Pot!" Louis cried merrily. "I thought I ought to let you know that my daughter loves the keyboard you helped me pick out when I visited the store last weekend. She was absolutely ecstatic when I gave it to her. It really is a quality instrument, just like you said, and it's been a joy to hear her practicing on it!"

Last Sunday at the store – the memory swept over me like a wave and for a moment I wasn't in the Tipsy Terrier with my girlfriend anymore.

I was at Uncle Norm's Piano Emporium as the doors jangled to admit a man I had never expected to see outside of a pub. Louis was red-faced, flustered. He told me that his daughter's birthday was on Tuesday, that he had tried to find a good keyboard online but found bad reviews on every product he saw. He was at his wits end.

He just wanted to make his daughter happy.

I prided myself on my work. Some say that salespeople don't really care, that we're just in it for the commission. And maybe some salespeople are.

But not me.

I loved what I sold. Keyboards, beautiful keyboards. And I loved the people I sold to, young musicians, old musicians, people looking to learn, to find new sounds, to create beautiful music. People like Louis, who want to help others find music. People like me, who find their happiness in turning noise into art.

When a person found their keyboard, it felt like- well- like two pieces of a song, or a soul, meeting each other. People and instruments did beautiful things together. I loved being a part of it.

"Hey? Stu? You still there?"

How long had Paula's hand been waving in front of my eyes? I blinked, refocusing my gaze onto the bemused woman at my side. I smiled, returning to the warm bar, the playful atmosphere, the Friday night. "Sorry, love. Got lost in a thought."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, now that you're back on earth, are you gonna pour the liquor, or are you gonna make me do it?"

"Oh, right!"

I wrapped one large hand around the neck of the bottle. Reaching with my other hand into my back pocket, my fingers searched until they brushed against a smooth, cool metal object. Bringing it out, I squeezed it in just the right spot and my flick knife revealed itself with a click. I eased the blade under the bottle's cork then popped it off with a quick jerk of my thumb.

Stowing the knife, I lifted the bottle and filled the glasses left behind from our first drinks. I wrapped my fingers around the cool crystal, observing as wavering spots of light danced across the surface of the dark liquor. I raised my glass and my eyes to meet Paula's. "A toast to the generosity of my fair lady Paula, who has allowed me to taste the drink which has been purchased with my money."

Paula smirked. "Yeah, a toast to me. And your money, as an afterthought."

I laughed as our glasses clinked together and tipped my head back to sip the liquor. It was delicious, a smooth, steady burn, a bite of spice, a tantalizing heat filling my insides. I hummed in approval at the flavor as the glass left my lips and settled back onto the counter top. Whoever made this liquor was an artist. An alcohol artist.

"That's good stuff," Paula approved, smacking her lips together.

An idea popped into my head. Bracing one elbow against the counter top and a hand on her knee, I leaned slowly towards Paula, my lips forming a devious smirk. "Yeah? How 'bout another taste then?" My face approached hers and she grinned, tilting her head back and slightly sideways. My arm slid up to her waist, pulling her closer to me as my eyes closed, my head tilted, my lips parted-

The door slammed.

It was loud enough that both Paula and I jumped slightly, barely avoiding smacking our skulls together. My grip on her loosened as I turned irately to face the source of the noise. My eyebrows shot up.

"Check out that ugly mug," Paula murmured.

Her blunt comment just about summed up the man who had just entered the bar. Sallow, greenish skin contrasted eerily with the warm lighting. Greasy black hair hung over a stormy sneer and a nose so unusual it would fit in with a freak show. He wore an odd assortment of clothes which were mostly black; the exceptions were a long, purple cape which flowed just behind his shoulders and a glinting gold inverted cross necklace. It was an unusual sight to behold. I was almost tempted to take a picture.

"Should we call the morgue? I think they've lost a corpse," Paula whispered into my ear. I let out a huff of laughter but stifled it quickly when I saw that the man was approaching the only open seat left in the pub- a stool next to mine.

This is uncomfortable, I thought. I shifted in my seat as he grew nearer, my shoulders tensing as the odd man sat down. Yuck- why does this guy smell like rotting fruit? I turned away from him, hoping to find fresher air in Paula's direction. Judging by the look on my girlfriend's face, she was no more pleased by this man's scent than I was.

I took a deep breath, looking down at the counter. He may be a sore sight (and an sorer smell), but he has as much right to be here as we do. I shouldn't be judging him by his appearance. In fact… I glanced back towards the man, who was hunched over the counter on his elbows, observing his surroundings with narrowed eyes. I should probably say something to him. This evening is going to get really awkward if we just sit here ignoring each other in silence. Who knows, maybe he's friendlier than he looks! I opened my mouth, turning towards the man with a greeting on my lips. Before I could so much as breath, my bottle of liquor was gone.

I stared in shock at the man who had just seized my bottle of liquor. He was holding it up to the light, the mahogany hues swirling under the grip of his pale green hand as he analyzed the fluid like a connoisseur. "Hmmm," he grumbled, his voice scratching like a record after being run through a dishwasher. "Good drink. Good year. I think I'll try it." My jaw dropped with disbelief as the man raised the pilfered bottle to his lips.

"HEY!" Paula hollered.

Several patrons of the bar glanced towards us curiously as the man nearly dropped my bottle of liquor. He glared at Paula with annoyance. "What do you want, Moleface?"

Did he just call my girlfriend Moleface? I gritted my teeth as anger stirred in my gut. I'm a peace-loving guy, but this man had definitely crossed a line. I opened my mouth to tell him off-

But Paula beat me to it.

"What did you just call me?"

"I called ya' Moleface, you screeching hag."

Paula fumed, hopping off her bar stool and stepping towards the man. "Fancy you insulting anyone, you toad-skinned corpse! Who do you think you are, coming in here smelling like a junkyard dog, insulting people and swiping their drinks? Put the bottle down, you freeloader!"

The man regarded her for a moment with a raised eyebrow. I found myself staring at his mismatched eyes, one scarlet, one dark brown, both beady and ominous. I flicked my eyes away before I could look into those eyes too deeply. I didn't want to know what I would find there.

Than man's lips curled into a smirk. I felt my spine stiffen as his gaze swept up and down Paula's figure. "Ooh, you're a feisty one. I like that. I suppose I could split some of this liquor with you if you ditch the blue-haired freak."

There aren't many people who can make me mad, let alone make me clench my fists and growl like an animal. This infuriating man, however, had accomplished this feat with flying colors. I was barely reigning in my temper. My shoulders shook with rage as I slid off my own bar stool, taking a firm step forward and wrapping my arm possessively around Paula's waist. "This blue-haired freak," I hissed, "Is going to have you kicked out of here if you don't put the bottle down and stop looking at his girlfriend."

"HAH!" the man laughed, his grin careless and mocking. "You're going to have me kicked out? How are you planning on accomplishing that?"

"He's friends with the staff," A low voice replied. Louis was there, his arms crossed as he loomed over the counter, affixing the green man with a menacing glare. Louis was a big man. His similarly burly coworkers were standing at his shoulders, backing him up. They could've passed for trained bodyguards. "I'd do what Mr. Pot says if I were you. We can do a lot worse than kick you out."

I smiled, bolstered by their support. I felt powerful, in control, the fiery liquor in my system fueling a rush of self-assurance, confidence, dominance. The man's face had contorted, his jaw twitching as he absorbed the scene in front of him: A posse of large bar-staffers standing tall and menacing, a young woman glaring at him in disgust, and a "blue-haired freak," poised at the center of this scene, grinning triumphantly as his girlfriend's arms wrapped themselves around his chest.

The man's eyes zeroed in on mine. I held his gaze steadily, refusing to acknowledge the depths of his eyes as I focused on my own confident expression reflected back at me. The man slammed the bottle back onto the counter, releasing it so that it sloshed and wobbled slightly before the contents went still. He rose to his feet. "Fine. I don't need this place. There are plenty of bars out there begging for my patronage." He turned, his purple cape swirling as he made to step away.

His purple cape swirling…

Familiar.

A memory.

"Wait!" I shouted.

The man froze. Slowly, he turned back to face me, his shoulders stiff and his scowl deepening. "What do you want, freak?" He spat.

I allowed myself to slide out of Paula's arms. Taking a step towards the man, I cocked my head to the side, my memories clearing as I took him in. "I've seen you before," I stated. "I never forget anyone who enters the shop."

"The shop?" The man growled. "I haven't got time to do stupid things like shopping!"

"No, you weren't shopping," I murmured, staring at the hem of his cape as the image of a man striding flamboyantly onto a stage flew past my mind's eye. "You were performing. We have performers come in every Thursday night. Keeps things interesting, draws people into the store."

The man tilted his chin up, his scowl loosening into a grin of self-importance. "Yes, I perform. I'm the leader of the best band that's ever bothered to visit this sorry excuse for a town. You're lucky you had the chance to see me before I moved on to bigger horizons."

What was the name of the band? Oh yeah, I remember. "Murdoc's Burning Sensations," I recalled, grimacing as the unappealing name rolled off my tongue. The man smirked as I looked him in the eye. "You must be Murdoc, then."

"That's me," He replied. "Murdoc Niccals, band leader extraordinaire. You, on the other hand- you said you worked at a shop? Ah, it must have been the Piano Emporium. Ha! A sorry little salesman! Bet your career is just full of fame!" He mocked sarcastically. "Bet you're rolling in dough, raking in those women- wait-"

Murdoc's eyes widened. His gaze flickered towards the expensive bottle of liquor on the counter, to Paula as she cast him a fiery glare, and to me with my confident grin. I could see the cogs turning in his head, his thoughts struggling to make sense of me. "What- what's a blinking shopkeep like you doing with a girlfriend and expensive drinks?"

"I earn a commission, and I'm good at what I do." I felt my grin widen deviously as I looked down on the unpleasant man, all notions of being polite absent from my mind. "I'm afraid I can't say the same for you. Smells like the Emporium isn't the only place where you've been showered with rotting tomatoes. Tell me, why are you out drinking tonight? Did you get booed out of another venue?"

He was on me in the blink of an eye.

His face was contorted in fury, threats flew out of his mouth as he pushed me into the counter. I gasped as a fist knocked the wind out of me, then crumpled to the ground as a second punch found its mark on the side of my head.

I heard Paula scream. The world was spinning, swimming, thumping, hurting. My back was grating against the hardwood floor; knees were digging into my gut. I brought my arms up to protect my face, but not before a set of knuckles smashed into my nose. I cried out in pain.

There was noise, a scuffle. Then the weight was gone.

With a short whimper I lifted my head, cracking my eyes open as the pub swirled sickeningly around me. I joined the rest of the pub's occupants watching the staff restrain Murdoc. The green man was struggling madly, his eyes locked on me, his fists swinging in a mad frenzy.

I rubbed my hand across my face, pulling it away to observe the blood now smeared across my knuckles. Slowly, unsteadily, I clambered to my feet, wincing as a wave or nausea rolled over my brain. Paula was at my side, supporting me as I straightened my spine. "Thanks, love," I murmured, sparing a glance towards her startled face before turning my eyes to the man who was spitting curses in my direction.

My pain had nothing on my anger.

I took an unsteady step forward, then a slightly stronger step, and another. I marched up to the man, returning his withering glare with my own. The bar staff secured his arms tightly, rendering him unable to do so much as flinch as I arrived in front of him and poked my finger into his chest.

"Listen here, you talentless jerk," I snarled. "You've got no right to go prancing about town like a rockstar when your 'band' is no more than a group of buddies you scraped off the sidewalk and handed instruments to. Your keyboardist made me sick, the way he banged on those keys like a mad ape. I'm no expert in guitar or drum, but they sounded pretty lousy too. You're a half-decent bass player, I'll give you that, but the moment the first lyrics of your opening song left your throat, I wanted to tear my ears out. I imagine you're probably the songwriter, too- those lyrics had as much beauty as your ugly face!"

"And you think you could do better?" Murdoc spat.

I smirked.

"Stuart plays keyboard and sings for us on open mic night, Saturdays," One woman, a regular I recognized, called from a nearby table. "His songs are all originals, and they're some of the most beautiful tunes I've ever heard."

"He writes me poetry," Paula purred, sidling up to my shoulder. "Sometimes he sings it to me. He's got more talent than twenty of you."

"He plays the keyboards he shows to his customers so that they can hear the quality of each instrument," Louis threw in, clapping me on the shoulder. "I can only hope that, after years of practice, my daughter will have half of his talent."

I reveled in their praise, my chest swelling with pride. Murdoc was staring up at me with a cocktail of anger, frustration, and hatred. I stepped close to him, leaning down so that my eyes were level with his. "Stay away from my pub," I whispered. "Stay away from my girlfriend, my shop, and my town. If I see you here again…" I reached into my back pocket. Murdoc paled when he saw my switchblade. Its shining surface reflected the pub's lights with menacing grace.

He didn't look so threatening anymore. His eyes widened with panic, his breath hitching as I pressed the flat side of the cool blade against his neck. "Next time, I won't waste any time talking. I won't be the one bleeding on the ground."

He was trembling in the bar staffs' grip. Slowly, I peeled my blade away from his sweaty throat. I held it up, taking my time admiring the scared reflection of the man's face on its silvery surface before the blade disappeared with a click.

Murdoc let out a shuddering breath. He quickly steeled his features, as if to pretend he hadn't been scared out of his wits moments ago. I turned to the staff. Their names… John. Rudy.

"John, Rudy, would you please take Mr. Niccals outside? He's bothering me and my girlfriend." I wrapped an arm around Paula's shoulders, enjoying the way she leaned into me, her fingers splayed over my chest. I smirked. Yes, she definitely enjoyed seeing me take charge.

"Of course, Mr. Pot."

"Sure thing, Mr. Pot."

As the staff guided him towards the door, Murdoc Niccals shot one final dirty glare in my direction.

This time, I looked deep into his eyes.

Where Paula's eyes held fire, this man's eyes held… Gosh… I'm not even sure how to describe it. It was like looking into Hell itself. I hoped Paula couldn't feel the involuntary shiver that ran through my spine as I found myself caught in that searing gaze.

It was a gaze that swore revenge.

Murdoc turned away as John and Rudy shoved him out the door. It was raining now. The doors closed behind him, and he was gone.

. . .

I was on fire. Being electrocuted. Being pierced with burning needles across every square inch of my skin. It had to be something like that. What else could feel like this?

It hurts. Everything hurts! Oh gosh, why does it hurt so much?

I tried to open my eyes. They hurt more than anything.

"Owww…" I moaned. My face hurt, my chest hurt, my arms hurt, and my legs hurt. I hurt on the outside and I hurt on the inside, in my throat, in my lungs, in my ribs, in my brain.

Who let this happen to me?

How did this happen?

Is there anyone around who can help with the pain?

I didn't know where I was, only that wherever it was felt like hell. The pain was so bad I could barely think, and what thoughts I did manage to squeeze out of my throbbing brain did nothing to help me.

What happened? WHAT HAPPENED? Why can't I remember?

Why can't I remember anything?

Where am I?

Who am I?

Pain lanced through my skull like a bolt of lightning.

"OOOOOWWWWW!"

"Ah, you're awake."

Pressure on my eyes- someone was opening them manually. I screamed as their thumbs pressed against my eyelids, against my overly-sensitive corneas. They pushed my eyelids back. I felt pitiful whimpers shake my chest as light flooded painfully into my vision. It was too bright, everything was blurry, and everything hurt.

Who's doing this to me?

I tried to focus on the person. My eyes weren't obeying me; they kept swaying and sliding.

Why can't I see straight?

Then they were right in front of me, a face lowered close to mine, harsh hands with sharp nails digging into my temples and forcing my face up until my eyes could wander over nothing but his face.

Green- Are faces supposed to be green? I'm not sure, I can't remember. Haven't I ever seen faces before? Shouldn't this be easy?

"Remember me, Dents?"

I stared up at the man, trying to hold my eyes steady enough to meet his. I failed. My eyes rolled limply in their sockets, turning to face his chin.

I opened my lips. I tried to speak, but I could barely choke out a sound before the pain made me stop.

The man's hands shook my head, causing a fresh wave of pain to roll across my brain. "What was that? I can't hear you!"

Is he enjoying this, or is he angry? I can't tell…

Prepared for the pain this time, I managed to cough a few raspy words out of my throat. "De- Dents? Is- is that my name?"

The man was silent for a moment. Sharp nails tightened painfully over my skin.

Have I upset him?

That idea was banished from my head when he began to laugh.

"You're really botched up, aren't you?" he proclaimed. His hands released my head, which fell back harshly against a thinly cushioned arm rest. Am I on a couch? Shouldn't I be in a hospital bed or something? As the back of my skull hit the surface, fresh pain burst in my mind.

"Aahhh!"

"Oh, is poor little dents in pain?" He simpered. "Truly sorry about that- trust me, I never meant for you to survive the first car crash."

"I- I was in a car crash?"

"Yep. And ol' Mudsy has had to look after your sorry carcass ever since."

"Oh…" I felt like there was something about what he had told me that I ought to have noticed, ought to be concerned about. But thinking hurt. I didn't want to do that. But I had to know-

"Why does everything hurt so much?"

"Because you were in a car crash, Dummy!" The man hollered. "Got flung out of my car window! Landed on your face!"

I stared up at him, the cogs in my mind turning slowly. My lips parted. "Dummy? Is that my name?"

He stared down at me. His head tilted sideways. "Geez, have you got any brain cells left? How are you even breathing right now?"

Everything hurt. Everything hurt before, but now I could feel a new sort of hurt growing. Was I hungry? No, I don't think this is food-hurt. But it's sort of like a craving.

"I think I need something," I rasped.

The man rolled his eyes. "I think there's a lot you need, ya dullard."

"Dullard? Is that my name?"

"Would you quit asking that?" The man shouted. There was a quick movement. He hit my face. I cried out, my throat rasping painfully as my heart rate rose in fear.

"You'd better start listening to me if you know what's good for you," The man growled. "I'm not a very patient person."

I whimpered. This was all too much. I didn't understand him; I didn't even understand myself. I didn't know my own name, and now I was too afraid to ask about it. Everything hurt. That second sort of hurt, the craving, was rising in intensity, clawing at my insides, burning to be appeased. I curled agonizingly onto my side, my knees tucking into my chest. "I- I just want the pain to stop."

His face was in front of mine again. I could feel his hot breath steaming against my skin, could smell the bitter alcohol rolling off his tongue. "Listen closely; I don't like to repeat myself. My name is Murdoc Niccals. I'm the greatest bass player in history and more talented than you can ever dream of being. I'm going to call you 2-Dents- 2D, for short- 'cause your messed-up face is no prettier than mine right now. Your only hope of having a purpose in life is to serve me by singing and writing songs for my band. If you can't do this, you're a piece of scum and I'm tossing you out the moment our court system loses interest in me. Understand?"

That was a lot of words, but I think I picked up on something. "2D? I- I'm 2D?"

The man rolled his eyes and turned away.

There was a flash of purple…

Purple cape…

A memory, something that stood out from everything else because it was so scary…

A man with a purple cape, being walked out of a bar. Eyes looking into mine. Eyes full of hellfire.

Those same eyes, visible for only an instant as a car zoomed towards me.

I screamed.

"Shut up!" The man said, spinning around to clap his hand forcefully over my mouth.

My teeth hurt. I moaned.

"What's wrong with you?" He growled, releasing my mouth.

I looked up at him, feeling fear course through my blood, my chest heaving madly, painfully. "You- you did this! In a car- my pain- my head!"

His arm was raised, reaching towards me. I scooted away, shutting my eyes. Maybe if I couldn't see him, he would disappear. Maybe everything would disappear. Maybe this was all just a bad dream, and soon, someone would wake me up.

No matter how hard I squeezed my eyes shut, I couldn't block out the pain. Especially the craving. It was growing. It was twisting. It was howling.

"Open your bloody eyes, Dents!" The man hollered.

"No! Stay- stay away from me! I don't want you to hurt me anymore!"

It hurt so bad…

"But don't you want this?"

A moment of silence. My eyes cracked open.

There was something in his hand. Small, orange. He shook his hand, and something clattered inside of it, many small things, clacking around in a plastic container. The sound danced in my ears like sweet music.

Pills?

Suddenly, the pain exploded.

I didn't know why…

But I needed those pills.

My hand flashed out, but I was slow and clumsy, missing the pills by a long shot. "Give them to me! I need them!"

"Good, you're already addicted. That will make things much easier." The man smiled menacingly. He popped the cap off the bottle, removed a single pill, and held it in front of me, just out of reach. I stretched out my neck, a high-pitched whine rising in my throat as I gazed at the pill.

"You see, 2D, you've been on these pills for a long time. Very strong painkillers. Very addictive. If you think you're in pain now, just wait until you've been off these for a couple more hours. You'll feel like you're on fire."

I already felt like I was on fire. Moaning, I reached for the pill. "Please, just give it to me!"

He swatted my hand away. "No, not yet. I need you to make me a promise first." He rose to his full height, straightening his spine, glaring malevolently down at me as he dangled the pill over my head. My neck craned painfully backwards as I struggled to keep my unfocused eyes trained on the small treasure.

"I am in charge of everything that happens around here, including you," He started, his voice venomous and commanding. "If you want me to give you what you need, then you have to do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to sing, you sing. If I tell you to play keyboard, you play keyboard. If I tell you to write a song, you write a song."

I nodded my head jerkily, blocking out the pain which rocked my mind as I did so. I didn't care what he asked for. I just wanted the pain to stop.

"If I tell you to shut up, you shut up. If I tell you to make me dinner, you make me dinner. If I throw a bloody stick and tell you to fetch it, you fetch-"

"I'LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT, JUST GIVE ME THE PILL!"

He blinked. He grinned.

"Beg for it."

My whole body trembled as I looked up into his eyes. Scary eyes. Burning eyes.

"Please," I whimpered, averting my gaze to stare at his feet. "I need it… Please give me the pill. Please, I'll do anything-"

A hand patted my head like one might pet a dog.

"Good boy. Open up."

I tipped my head back instantly, opening my mouth wide. The man chuckled.

"Maybe if I stuck two of these pills into your gums, they could pass for front teeth. Here, you probably need two anyway. I don't want you disturbing me later with your whimpering."

I felt two small objects drop onto my tongue, and quickly swallowed. Almost instantly I sighed with relief, feeling the craving ebb, the pain dull.

However, the pain wasn't the only thing that dulled.

It was like a fog falling over my mind. What little words and images were left in my concussed skull lost their focus, blurring around the edges, deforming, dissolving. I could feel my thoughts disconnecting, melting into an incomprehensible mass of jumbled nonsense.

My brain feels squishy. But the pain is fading.

Heh… squishy brain…

Squishy pink blob in my head, gooey blobby blob, gummy squishy squashy pudding…

Wait, what am I thinking about?

What just happened?

Did I get eaten by a pink blob?

I looked around, turning my head weakly against the lethargic tide that seemed to be pulling me deeper into the couch. The room was hazy, a face swam in and out of focus inches away from mine. I couldn't quite tell, but I think it was smirking.

"Not so tough now, are ya?" A voice floated around my head, swirling with the colored blurs in my eyes. "I'm the boss here. I'm your master. Don't you forget it."

. . .

Coming Up Next: 20 years later, something odd happens to a band called Gorillaz