'Ello. So this is my first Gorillaz fic and I hope you like it (this is basically the set up theres a lot more stuff to come) ^^

Deals With The Devil

It was dark. Incredibly dark within the folds of the bogeyman's cloak. Well, at least that was where he presumed he was, considering how not two minutes ago he had faced off with the demon himself. Murdoc tensed, refusing to accept his fate and wishing beyond belief that he would be released before he was presented to Satan.

To be honest, Murdoc didn't know why he wanted to avoid this so much. It just didn't feel right to die now, like he hadn't done enough or what he was born to do was never completed. Then again, what was he born for? It had to be fame and fortune, like he had lived. He had sold his soul for the opportunity, and now it had finally come back to haunt him.

Suddenly, there was a crack of light in the darkness. Intense cold took over Murdoc's very being, chilling his bones, and he shivered. He shivered as he was thrust forward into the light and found himself kneeling on a cold metallic floor. Thin streams of icy water ran across the metal surface, slowly rising in the silence until the liquid came up to his chest. The cold seemed to wash away his fear and anger, carrying it away in the frozen river surrounding him.

He couldn't look up. It was too cold to move, and the room was too bright. Then and there, he accepted that he was going to die in this cold metal room. Apathy took him over, and slowly Murdoc let himself lean forwards into the water, encasing himself in the icy torrent.

It could have been hours that he let himself freeze in there, feeling nothing short of grief. It was over. He was dead, and this was the end. No more fame, girls and money. No more Gorillaz. No more Murdoc Niccals.

"Are you ready?"

Her voice was soft, how you would imagine an angel's voice to be, distorted yet distinguishable even through the heavy flow of water. A gentle hand placed itself on his shoulder, forcing him to rise from the water, and it continued to do so until Murdoc was on his feet. He noticed that as he stepped out of the water, he was no longer wet, only cold. It was only then that he looked up.

It had to be said, the angel greatly resembled the photos he had seen of his mother almost to an alarming extent. Soft, golden hair and deep chocolate eyes. Murdoc had had her eyes before his meth problem. He had had her nose, too, before it got broken. He found it ironic how the only parts he had inherited from her got ruined.

Not particularly looking forward to whatever came next, Murdoc nodded slowly, allowing her to guide him through a light grey curtain that he only now noticed in front of them.

The place they had walked into was not extravagant, nor mystical or heavenly or anything of the sort. It was an office. An office with cream walls and an ugly grey carpet, a dark mahogany desk standing in the centre.

Behind said desk sat a man. He was average in appearance, quite tall and quite thin, slick black hair and wearing a sharp black suit. The only abnormality was his deep crimson eyes, which gave Murdoc a very good idea of who he was.

"Murdoc Faust Niccals. Take a seat. It's nice of you to finally show up. Your poor mother's been waiting forty seven years for you , it would be polite of you acknowledge her." His voice was like velvet.

The fact that he was speaking directly with Satan himself was a great privilege by Murdoc's standards. However, the woman next to him apparently being his real mother sent chills through him. He had heard many stories about this woman, granted mostly from his lying drunk father, but the ones he heard from Hannibal were presumably true. Like that she had attempted to kill him as a baby and insisted that he stay with her in the asylum.

He briefly nodded her way "Mum." He bitterly ground out, speaking for the first time since his death. He was not expecting a pair of arms to throw themselves around his neck.

"My Murdoc, my baby." She whispered into his ear. He could practically feel the crazy radiating from her. It was unnerving.

"I tried to take you with me, back in the hospital, but they pulled you away. They took you out of the bath tub. I wouldn't let them take me, but I couldn't hold on to you. I'm so sorry, so sorry you had to wait so long…"

Was she crying? Yes, she was crying into Murdoc's shoulder. The grief in her words shook him greatly. Finally meeting your dead mother and having her confess to your attempted murder wasn't exactly what he had wanted out of death. Perhaps a means of escape from the crazies out in the real world? Yes.

Satan was watching them carefully "You know, she asked me very specifically for the water. Begged me is more accurate. She wanted your final departure to be initially through drowning, like she had wanted in the first place, and I think it's a nice touch." The idea scared Murdoc to no end. The woman was completely insane, but circumstances didn't let him want to push her off. She was his mother, and it was nice to finally have a parent who wanted him around, no matter what the reason was.

"So I weren't dead before?" He asked, face falling to misery when the demon nodded "But I am now?"

"Yes, Murdoc Nicclas. And there's the matter of your soul…" The red eyed demon focused on the various papers on his desk, shuffling though them and picking out certain contracts and balance forums that applied to Murdoc and the situation. A bead of sweat was running down the bassist's neck. This was the part he had always dreaded.

When a human being lost their soul, it didn't mean immanent death. Well, it depended on what you called living. The soul is what makes a person feel, be able to experience thought and express it through actions. People without souls were empty husks, devoid of emotion and able only to feel physicality. It was pain or nothingness for those without a soul, and the idea of losing himself scared Murdoc to no end.

"It's very valuable, you see." Satan leaned across the desk, and pushed his mother off his shoulders, letting her fall back into her seat.

"Being famous and well known by most of Earth's population increases value greatly, but you knew that when you promise me your soul in the first place, didn't you? You wanted to be worth something, and here you are."

"And then there's your childhood to take into account. Born in an insane asylum, mother tried to kill you, abusive father and brother, neglected, beaten, starved, and every person who ever showed you any compassion has left. Diana, if I have read this correctly, your father's girlfriend when you were eight years old, promised she would take you with her when she left. Whatever happened with that? And here I even see an account of molestation on the part of a fifty year old dinner lady… tsk tsk. There are some bad people out there, Murdoc Niccals. It just so happened they were the only ones around when you were growing up."

"But in your adult life, you ended up being just like the people you were raised by. I do believe the impact you had on one Stuart Pot was less than acceptable. His soul's worth is added to yours, as technically by the laws of the spirits he belongs to you. He will join us when we are ready to proceed to the trading of souls."

Murdoc's knuckles were white from gripping the chair. He never let anybody bring up his childhood. It did things to him, and he just couldn't stop once he started, and the dig on Stuart and his soul was getting to be too much for him.

"Why does he belong to me? He never signed no contract. Never even brought it up with the bloke."

"Because, Murdoc Niccals, he looked up to you in a way that is considered very rare. He thinks you saved his life. He devoted the rest of it trying to make your band successful, and even through your nasty attitude and constant arguing he loved you. Yes, Murdoc Niccals, he loved you, as if you were his own family."

This was surprising. After all the crap he gave the guy, 2D still actually liked him. No, loved him, Murdoc thought. It was weird to think such a thing. He definitely had never had such feeling towards the singer.

"There is also the matter of destroying the innocence of Chidori Kimura. If you hadn't been an influence on her she wouldn't have come to Hell, and would have led a more natural life. All in all your existence has caused her nothing but pain. She still has night terrors Murdoc Niccals. She's emotionally ruined and you taught her that mental doctors are psychos themselves so she's never bothered to seek professional help. But she's tough, twelve years of living with you has taught her to keep to herself. Well done."

If he was uncomfortable before, now he was on the verge of crying. That had to be Noodle he was talking about. He hadn't even caught her real name while the demon was speaking, but he knew it was Noodle. Murdoc never cried, but this was really starting to push it.

"The exorcism performed on mister Russel Hobbs, causing him a mental breakdown and years of depression. The mutation of his genes while attempting to find you. These are your fault. If you hadn't made him famous, no attention would have been brought to his possession or mental state, and he would be living a happier, healthier life now. Don't even for a minute think that making these people famous had done them any good. Fame is what's killing them."

"The same cannot be said for a miss Paula Cracker. When your album Plastic Beach was released she was going through a hard time, and I've linked back her depression to her leaving your band. She's never gotten over that, you know, and she's killed herself. Yes, that's right, through mental analysis technicalities you are held responsible for her suicide."

"You've caused so much pain in this world. Born from hate and spewed into hate, you lead a life made up from pure hate. You are a bad person Murdoc Niccals, and now you must give to me your soul."

"Mum. Leave." He whispered. He received a hurt look as she scampered out of the office through a small mahogany door. He was shaking. He was going to be sick. Hearing all of this now was too much. He was going to cry. Murdoc was going to cry

But he didn't. He hadn't cried since his eighteenth birthday, when he finally got his driving licence and left home for good, but even then those were maniacal tears of mixed happiness, anxiety and fear. This was grief. This was a severe case of depression that was coming on with the realisation that he was, in fact, a bad person.

"Look, Satan," He started. He stalled for a second as the demon seemed to pull his bass, El Diablo, from this air and he winced as the neck was snapped "begging aint my business. You know that. But please, there's gotta be another way. Can I change it? Any of it? Can I at least get Stu out of the deal?"

The demon shook his head slowly "His soul belongs to you on a technicality, if you go then so does he."

"Can I renounce the oath?" At this point Murdoc was going out on a guess. He had a theory in mind but wasn't entirely sure that he could follow through with it. Satan seemed interested now, cocking an eyebrow for the bassist to continue "If I, uh, gave it all up. The fame and that. If I wasn't in a world famous band, could I keep my soul? And Stu's too?"

A puzzled look crossed the demon's face, and he almost jumped out of his seat in a rush to search the papers on his desk. Finally finding what he was looking for he read intently for a few minutes before looking up. His expression was one of intrigue and irritation.

"Your soul is very valuable Murdoc Niccals, I hope you understand that. For this kind of opportunity you will be trading my blessing of your music. I will set back time to before you started Gorillaz, Stuart Pot will remain with you through the ownership technicalities, but I cannot guarantee how he will react this time around."

He really couldn't believe it. He was getting a second chance! Nobody got a second chance. Nobody.

"Thank you Satan, sir, really, I promise I'll do better this time round." And he was almost in tears again. He felt so out of character it was unreal. This want like him at all, and Murdoc scolded himself for being such a wuss.

The demon scrunched his nose "Why would I want you to do better? Now stand up."

Murdoc stood, anxious and sort of excited about his second chance. Satan stood too, walking around to the front of the desk where it revealed that he did not have human legs, but that of a ram.

"I'm going to put your mind with all its memories into the mind of yourself in 1998. The only part you won't remember is the music you made, because my musical blessing gave you the ability to produce it at such a high standard. If you really do the world any good I may have to send some souls back up. This is such an ordeal, you know. You couldn't just go quietly."

Close to shaking in anticipation, Murdoc could not speak as Satan placed his hand around his neck, the hand a fiery presence and so different to the water he had drowned in earlier "Your mother may have to wait a while longer for you to come home." The demon muttered. The grip got tighter, and suddenly Murdoc panicked. He couldn't breathe. Not at all. Black spots danced before him, clouding his vision as he clawed at the hot hand around his neck. The stoic face in front of him remained unchanging as his vision went completely dark.

Murdoc's body fell limp to the floor, slowly flaking away on the carpet. Soon there wasn't anything left, only the shadow of the demon standing in front of empty space. Feeling a change in the atmosphere, Satan rushed back to his desk to check the files he kept of Murdoc's life. He stopped and stared.

"That's… something." He said out loud to himself "Different. Very different."

He sighed and made his way over to the phone on the wall. It was time to send some souls back up. And take a few down, at that.

Murdoc woke up to the sound of people screaming and a loud car horn right next to his ear.

Snapping his head upright, he discovered he was the one causing the dreadful noise by resting his head on the steering wheel. Steering wheel? Damn, he hadn't seen this car in years…

Wait, he thought, oh shit.

Only now noticing the shattered windscreen and trail of blood across the car park, Murdoc realised exactly where he was.

A long, blue haired body was twitching about forty metres in front of the car. It slowly pushed itself up, arms shaking with the effort. The sky opened up, rain pouring down onto its skinny form as it finally stood upright. Many of the people watching screamed as the zombie-like boy come back to life.

And then it turned around.

Blood pouring from one damaged eye socket, the other eye completely blacked out. A grin wide enough to show off the missing front teeth. Murdoc was seeing this for the first time all over again, and he was rather fond of the memory. He couldn't help that he got excited at the final reawakening of 2D. The zombie-like form walked its way over to the car, leaning on the bonnet with large hands and smiling into the shattered windscreen.

"'Ello." He shuddered before promptly passing out. Murdoc practically threw himself out of the car, grabbing 2D's comatose body and pushing it into the passenger seat. He drove off frantically, for once actually happy to be in the presence of the blue haired singer. Well he's not a singer yet, thought Murdoc fondly.

Quickly scolding himself for getting all sentimental and soppy, he pulled into where he was pretty sure he lived right about now, which was a rundown block of flats in the middle of an industrial estate. Nice.

Right, I have one singer, and I know where to buy Kong studios. Now to just kidnap Russel, send out an order for one Asian axe princess and have my fame and fortune without giving up my soul, He convinced himself Brilliant.

But we know full well that Murdoc has no idea what he's gotten into.

So watcha think? I know this story's started out pretty dark. In fact, this is really bleak by my standards I got sad writing it. I promise it'll be less depressing from here on.

Murdoc really doesn't know what it meant when Satan gave him musical blessing. There is so much that that relied on oh my god do I have plans for this story. Please review really it makes me happy to know people read thing I write ^^ xoxoxoxoxo