Morgan grunted as she was viciously slammed into the brick wall in a dark alleyway. Her captor, holding a knife to her throat, chuckled menacingly as his two colleagues stood back, crossing their arms.

"Look a' what we go' 'ere, boys! A damsel with cash to spare! Le's give 'er the ol' English welcome!"

"I'm not giving you anything. Do what you'd like," she growled.

"I sure will, swee'eart! Jus' don' strug-" He was interrupted by a kick to the groin and let out a howl of pain. The thug crumpled like an unstable house of cards, dropping his knife and covering where the woman had kicked.

"Get 'er," he stuttered. "Get 'er!"

The woman hesitated slightly before punching the face of the approaching right goon and whipping around to kick the left one in the stomach. The man who had been punched in the face held a hand over his mouth and nose before taking it away. Blood was dripping from his nostrils and his lip was split, letting the precious red liquid ooze out of that orifice as well. He growled and reeled back, preparing to strike as his buddy; who had just gained some air back in his lungs; stood a little higher and attempted to support himself. Morgan turned to the side as the right man's fist flew past her face, slamming against the brick behind her. He pulled his fist back, hissing in pain as he rubbed the torn skin. Suddenly, she felt something huge slam her into the wall. It was the other thug. He held her arms, pinning her as the other guy ran over to search her pockets and purse. Before he could even lay a finger on her, however, she managed to push the thug holding her away. He tripped and fell on top of the other guy, slamming him against the pavement below and knocking him out. Standing back up again, he produced a knife out of his pocket and charged. Morgan ducked out of the way of the blade, letting it hit the bricks with a small tink and bending the tip a bit. The man went to stab again, but this time the young woman was ready. She grabbed his fist just as the knife was centimeters from her nose and, with as much strength as she could muster, slammed his fist back into his face with a loud snap. The thug growled in pain and tried to pull from her grip, his nose bent at an odd, unnatural angle. He was too late, though, as she gave the guy a swift uppercut and let go, watching the man fall to the ground, unconscious.

Morgan turned to the thug boss, her chest heaving, and glared.

"Oh, look, it's a douche in distress!" She mocked, then she bent down, her nose just centimeters away from his. "Don't mess with me in the future or your goons won't be the only ones getting hurt."

He looked at his fellow criminals and then back at Morgan, nodding frantically. She smirked back before stepping out of the alleyway and to the left. From there, it was only a few blocks to the place she needed to go.

><><><><><><><><><><><

The smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol welcomed the woman into the bar. This was it, her fourth gig. This would be the one.

"Hey, you!"

She snapped out of her thoughts as a balding, fat, middle-aged man confronted her.

"Yeah?"

"You're Morgan, righ'? The one who's singin' tonigh'?"

"That would be me."

"How come you're runnin' so la'e? The show's abou' to star'!"

"I got into some...," She paused, thinking over her words, "Trouble on the way here."

"Whateva', kid! Jus' get goin' already!" He said as he hurded her toward the backstage door.

"Alright, alright, I'm going! Hands off the merch!"

Morgan turned, opened the backstage door, and disappeared behind it, the heavy door slamming closed behind her.

Words of encouragement flew through her head like birds through the branches of a tree.

"Your fourth gig? Well, you're gonna nail it!"

"Wow! That's a fantastic number four!"

"You got this, kid."

These were fond memories of hers. The reactions of past audiences after she stated her fourth show would be in London. They swarmed her brain as she pulled a tube of mascara and another of lipstick out of her right jean pocket. This moment was a long time coming and she felt not only that this show would pay off, but she'd finally be picked up by a record company. Maybe even make a deal with one?

She flipped a strand of her pitch black hair behind her ear, "Don't get your hopes up, Morg. Why would the owner of a record company be here, anyways? This place is an absolute dump," She told herself, finishing her lipstick. "Besides, if a famous person or record company was here, you wouldn't have been hired to sing tonight."

Popping the cap back on her mascara tube and slipping it into her pocket once again, the lights in the dressing room dimmed. Suddenly, her thoughts went into overdrive.

"Do I know the words?"

"I'm gonna mess up!"

"Uh oh."

There was no time to calm herself. It was time for the show and, as she stepped up the stairs onto the stage, the curtains hiding her from her eager audience, she took a few deep breaths. Then, she heard the crackle of the old speaker turning on.

"Ello, everyone! Welcome to the Starga'e Pub! Tonigh', we 'ave an act all the way fro' America! Give i' up for Morgan Eleweiser!"

The curtains rolled open and customers whistled and applauded as the speakers began playing Adele. The woman strutted up to the center front of the stage and picked up the microphone from the stand. She swung her hips side to side, matching the beat of the music before tapping her foot and beginning to sing.

"I heard that you're settled down
that you've found a girl and you're married now.
I heard that your dreams came true
Guess she gave you things I didn't give to you.

Old friend, why are you so shy?
Ain't like you to hold back or hide from the light.

I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it.
I had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded
That for me it isn't over.

Never mind, I'll find someone like you!
I wish nothin' but the best for you too
Don't forget me, I beg
I'll remember you said,
'Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead,
Sometimes it hurts in love but sometimes it hurts instead.'"

As the song finished, the crowd of customers blew up in applause. Many men nodded at her while others were busy cheering. She bowed and scanned the faces in the ground. As she did so, Morgan spotted a hooded figure watching her, silently. She hadn't noticed him before but, before she could examine him or her further, the curtains rolled closed. Of course, the excited clapping didn't continue long after the curtain fell and, when it did die off, the customers went back to their drinking and smoking, seeming to forget the woman's performance. As she hopped offstage and through the door, Morgan congratulated herself, silently, grinning jovially. For a moment, she saw herself on an enourmous stage, dressed in expensive, bejeweled garments with her hair up, and singing in front of a crowd of thousands of excited fans; screaming her name, over and over and over again.

A knock on her dressing room door kicked her out of her thoughts and back into the present. She took the handle and turned it, gently.

"Ma'am," It was a waiter. "The man in the grey hoodie said he wanted to give this to you," he said, holding a glass of a fruity-looking drink.

"Oh, uh, thanks."

"He also said to meet him over there. Wants to talk."

"Uh-huh, I see. Will do."

The waiter nodded before turning and walking off. She went out the door after, heading toward the bar near the front door. As she passed customers, they whistled and unsuccessfully attempted to flirt with the woman. She ignored each one and sat down in a stool next to the hoody-wearing figure. A cigarette butt was sticking out from the shadows under the hood and, as the guy started to speak, he blew a puff of acrid-smelling smoke toward the shelves of liquor. He didn't even look at Morgan.

"Mm, 'merica, huh? Long way away fro' 'ome. Yah 'ave a nice voice, by the way."

"Yeah, uh, thanks. So, uh, what is it that you want?"

"Jus' wanne' to ask if ya' eve' considered singin' long-term."

"What?"

The man chuckled, his gravelly, deep voice reverberating somewhat goofily.

"You' voice! You planin' on doing' anything wid' it? It coul' really make yeh' famous!"

"Well, I've been looking for someone to pick me up. No record company seems interested yet, though. Guess they're just too busy counting money to care," she said, taking a sip of her drink.

"'Ow would ya' feel 'bou' joinin' a band?"

"Well, I've never really thought of joining a band. I've always thought about going solo-."

"Lemme restate tha'. 'Ow would you like to join my band?"

"I mean," Before she could finish speaking, the man in the hoodie had turned to look at her. Under his hood, she could faintly see his face.

His chin was almost pointed and his grin was sharklike. One of his pupils was off-colored and both eyes were brimmed with bags. His nose was crooked and bent in an odd, inward angle while all of his skin was an odd green color.

"'Name's Murdoc Niccals, leader o' the ban' Gorillaz."

"Woah, wait, What?"

Murdoc lost his grin and frowned for a moment, "Wha', Are you deaf o' something?"

"N-No, it's just, I'm just surprised, is all. Why would you come...here; to this place and not some high-class casino bar or something?"

Murdoc hesitated slightly, turning in to look back at the wall of bottles, "The ban's no' doin' so well La'ely. Been mo'e...'ostile," he took another puff of his cigarette and knocked some ashes off the end with his finger before stiffening up and beginning to cough, violently. He dropped the cigarette onto the counter and put one hand to his chest, the other covering his mouth.

"Yeesh, man, you alright?" Morgan patted his back looking at the man with concern in her eyes.

"Y-yeah, jus'...I's been 'appening a lo' la'ely," he shook his head, sighing. "So," he cleared his throat, attempting to change the subject, "'ow abou' it? Woul' ya like ta join the ban'?" He asked, turning once again to look at the woman.

"I mean, sure! What's the worst that could happen, amIright?"

Murdoc grinned, his eyes giving off a friendly demeanor, "Tha's the spiri'! 'Ey, wan' anotha' drink?" He eyed her emptied glass.

"Eh, sure. Why not?" Morgan shrugged, proceeding to pull out her wallet.

The man put out a hand in a "stop" gesture, "Nah, don' worry 'bou' it! I's on me," turning into the bar, he called out, "'Ey, bartenda'! Anotha' roun' o' drinks fo' me an' the pre'ey woman nex' to me!"

Morgan rolled her eyes.