Lucifer wasn't an unreasonable man. In this sort of spiritual climate, who could afford to be? Loyal servants were harder and harder to come by these days, the self proclaimed "satanists" and "witches" of the current age being little more than children looking to seem unique or self-validate. On the off chance someone got a ritual or incantation right, it was usually followed by screaming and the unceremonious soiling of one's pants, with maybe one in one hundred of these encounters ending in a deal. He had souls a plenty, of course. In this day and age, it wasn't hard. All the drinking, drugs, sex, and general debauchery made it simple. But you didn't stay in hell for any of that. The minor sins were like, well, prison. You were tortured a few years, given a stern talking to by the man upstairs, then reincarnated or sent to heaven, if you were lucky. It was keeping souls that was becoming hard.
The only time you stayed in hell was if he owned your soul, after all. The only way for that was for one of the more major sins, like murder, or for you to trade your soul willingly as a servant. The latter was what was becoming scarce. He could no longer be a menacing figure, willing to damn your soul at a moment's notice, and instead a shrewd businessman. You give up your soul for love, money, power, a few kangaroos (and what a deal that one was), health, or talent, and when the time comes, he had you.
Deals were harder to come by, sure, but simple. At least, where most were concerned. But Murdoc Niccals wasn't "most".
Lucifer was already almost pulling out his hair when the thin green rocker stepped into his office, swaggering about like he owned the place. But something was different. Lucifer knew it right away.
"So these are your new digs, eh?" Murdoc asked casually, slipping his hands in his pockets as he studied the room. It was small and simple, an ugly shade of red splotched across the wallpaper, and a matching, shaggy carpet. In the middle of the room was a simple, finely polished oak table, one chair on either side, one of which was occupied by Lucifer himself. On the wall sat a painting Murdoc currently examined- an excruciatingly detailed depiction of a man being ripped apart by feral kittens.
"I like the art piece. Very post modern, not unlike my own work, you know." Murdoc pulled the empty chair out, plopping into the seat absently.
Lucifer did not look up from a file he was reading. "You mean the photograph? That's from our new petting zoo. I'm quite fond of it myself."
"You mean thats not..." Murdoc glanced at the photo, eyes blinking, before turning back to Lucifer. "That um... well. Petting zoo... that sounds... doesn't sound so ba-"
"To the point, please," Lucifer sighed, finally looking up at Murdoc. "I don't have all day."
The bass player froze. Lucifer often switched forms around- for entertainment or convenience, no one knew. He had ones he preferred, sure- a gentleman with a top hat and a curly mustache, a bloody clown, a giant spider, a snake. But today... he was 2D. Murdoc didn't see it at first- the blue hair, the hollowed out eyes. Perhaps he started the day as something else and the transformation had been instant. Murdoc didn't know- but he didn't like it.
"Um... you're uh... you're wearing my friend, there," Murdoc stammered, leaning back in his chair uncomfortably.
Lucifer chuckled. "Murdoc. You don't have friends." He looked back down at the file, turning a page. "To the point, please." It wasn't 2D's voice. Murdoc wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.
"...I need help with another album," Murdoc spit out, almost like he was trying to sneak the words by. "I don't really have the money just now and-"
"You don't have the money just now," Lucifer repeated with a sigh. "Did your last album sell that poorly?"
"No, I-"
"No, you, you what? Blew it all already?" Lucifer chuckled, shaking his head. "No... no thats not it. There's something different about you this time, I could smell it since you walked through the door. What is it?"
"...I want a show," Murdoc said, leaning forward and forcing himself to look not-2D in the eyes. "I want a Gorillaz tv show. I want Gorillaz comics. I want more merchandise. More albums, not just one every six, seven years! I want a Gorillaz movie, I want Rockband: Gorillaz, I want-"
Lucifer sat back, laughing. Murdoc's face fell. He stared across the table, dumbfounded, not sure what was so funny, but his questions were soon answered.
"That's it! That's what's different! You, my green skinned friend, are an addict," the devil spoke, matter of factly.
"...addict?" Murdoc repeated the word, dumbfounded.
"Addict." Lucifer wiped his eyes, standing up. "This new comeback for you... its been the first time you've been really relevant in years, and you can't... you just can't let that go, can you? Gorillaz movie, gorillaz merchandise... pfft. That is rich."
"Hey! You agreed to make me big, huge!" Murdoc shot to his feet, voice a growl. "If you don't hold up your end of the bargain-"
2D's face quickly contorted, and Murdoc found himself face to face with a giant, hissing cobra. The bassist fell back in his seat, horrified, Lucifer leaning across the table, giant eyes glowing.
"Don't you dare speak to me like that again!" he boomed, the room shaking. "My contract says I can't touch you, but I will have you maimed when you step foot on that street again! You'll die face down in the gutter, understand me?!"
Murdoc looked away, cowering, murmuring apologies. Lucifer's face slowly contorted back to that of 2D. He adjusted his suit, taking a breath, before sitting back down. "I agreed to make you big. Not the biggest. And you have been big- but you made one mistake in our little agreement all those years back. You didn't ask to be the best. I don't know why so many people make that mistake. Let me ask you. Look into my eyes, or lack of them."
Murdoc looked up, staring into the two, gaping pits and Lucifer placed two blank pieces of paper on the table.
"You did this. You know that." Lucifer told him. "You permanently disfigured a man to show off to some girls. Then you kept that same man trapped in a room, too scared to leave because of a whale you kept outside. Oh, but I'm getting ahead of myself- then there was the tasty little bits with Paula Cracker! Or how about Noodle? Risking her life to get rid of a dangerous fan. No other way you could have settled that, that didn't involve possibly killing her? How about Rus? How's he been now that he's not hosting a ghost in that thick skull of his? Its an odd sort who chooses to take advantage of that sort of thing rather than get him help."
"I... what's your point?" Murdoc demanded, eyes shifting to the two papers.
"My point is, you're addicted to fame. Success. Relevancy," Lucifer told him. He snapped his fingers, ink beginning to write itself on the pages. "You don't know when to step away. When your moment is up. You just... keep clinging. Its not about the art for you, its about the money, the recognition. You talk a big game about your music, but you don't care about it. And you don't care how those around you suffer to make it happen. You don't care how you hurt them- if you were a halfway decent person, you wouldn't have to keep tracking your bandmates down and force them to keep making albums. You called 2D your friend before, but we both know that isn't true. You don't have friends. You have money, and roadies, and drugs and booze, but no friends. When you die and your soul is mine, no one will miss you. No one will pray."
Murdoc sat in stunned silence. For the first time, he had nothing to say. Lucifer smiled, sliding him the papers.
"...what are these?"
"I'm glad you asked." Lucifer leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Two separate contracts. The first gets you what you asked for. Money, a lot of it. Enough to afford you a new, bigger studio, enoug h to buy private jets and boats and drugs, anything your black little heart desires. The second... is your soul."
"My... soul?" Murdoc looked up at him, convinced he misheard.
"That's right. I'm willing to give it back to you." Lucifer stood up, producing a pen from thin air. "Despite me having a bit of a... deficiency, of souls, I'm willing to make you an offer. You sign that, and you get it back. No hell when you die. Maybe purgatory if the man upstairs decides it- you probably won't ever get to heaven, unless you start repenting a a day ago- but you won't be stuck down here with me."
"...whats the catch?"
"Everything I've given you? Gone. No more Gorillaz. No more fame, no more recognition. You'll get a nifty little job as manager of a store in London, and what you do with your life after that is up to you."
Murdoc stared down at the paper, then back up at the devil. He couldn't believe it. "What's the catch?" he asked, again.
Lucifer sighed, shaking his head. "The catch is, you aren't going to sign that paper. You're an egotistical, self centered wretch who tasted popularity, and can't have enough. Nothing is EVER enough for people like you. You'll do whatever it takes to taste that again. You can't ever be happy on your own."
Lucifer offered Murdoc the pen. Murdoc took it.
"Go ahead. Prove me wrong."
Murdoc stared at the papers a long time. He looked up Lucifer, then down at the desk, then up at Lucifer again. It wasn't 2D staring back at him anymore- it was his own face.
"Go on. Take your time. I can wait." Lucifer smiled, slumping back in his chair. "Its up to you, Murdoc. Make your choice. Cut your losses and walk away? Or go all in, no matter the cost?"
Murdoc looked back down at the contracts. Then he decided.
Pen in hand, he leaned forward, and signed his name.