Murdoc Niccals was never a good man or even a decent man at that. Most people would have wanted desperately to blame his Satanism or the heavy metal music he tended to listen to. It wasn't those things; those things had kept him from blowing his brains everywhere. His father was the one to blame, humiliating him, and screaming at him in fits of drunken rage. His childhood and school life was always there for him to blame, but he never cared much to defend himself when somebody accused him of being disgusting or evil. His usual reply was to just smirk at them and give them the finger. It had gotten him through nearly every situation, until now of course.

His latest rock band wasn't working out; the members of it were talentless idiots. When he had promised his soul to a demon for his flying V bass and the ability to play it hard enough to wake the dead he didn't think he'd end up in a band where he was the only one with any talent. They had only played a couple of shows; the first one ended with them being booed and bottled, the second one had ended with a riot. The riot part had been quite fun, he'd managed to break the drummer's nose, and the arm of some skate punk boy with a pink mohawk. Ever since the last incident he had been planning on starting a new band, he just needed some equipment before he could really get his plan set.

"So what are we doin' again?" The greasy black haired singing asked from the back of the van.

Murdoc rolled his eyes and gripped tighter to the steering wheel as he sped through the nearly empty streets.

"I already told you, you sodding idiot. We're gonna go to that music shop there and rob the place, then I'm kickin' your worthless arses outta my band." He growled through gritted teeth.

The spiky haired man next to him only nodded. They were too stupid to even realize or care that they were out of a band, they were also still stoned. He knew they were a waste, he honestly didn't expect them to help steal anything. He assumed they would have cut out on him the night before, but they made it this far. They were just the usual Goths he found around the local pubs who would talk about Satan and Peter Murphy constantly, talk about death, but fainted at the sight of blood. They did decent with small time crimes, but anything where the possibility of being caught was high they were near worthless. He needed them for this though and after this he would ditch the idiots.

He could see the music shop coming into view and ran his pointed tongue along his bottom lip as he gripped the wheel tighter and pushed forcefully onto the gas pedal causing the car to scream bloody murder as it jerked forward barreling towards the small shop. He had it all planned perfectly; crash through those windows, jump out, grab some things, back into the van, and the hell out of there.

That was of course until the van crashed through the window and he noticed the blue haired boy behind the counter he was about to crash into just standing there staring off into space like he was too out of it to realize there was a car about ready to crash into him. The thought of trying to stop had occurred to him, but before he could switch onto the break he'd already hit the boy, he saw his face slam into the front of the car, then go under. The van came to a stop and smoke began to spew up from under the hood, the doors opened, and his band mates jumped out and fled from the scene.

"Fuckin' worthless, fuckin idiots" Murdoc mumbled as he stumbled out of the van.

Workers and customers stood around staring in shock at the scene, it had to be something new for them to see. He went around the front and looked down to see the blue haired boy lay out on the ground with his legs under the van, the side of his face was bruised and bloodied. Murdoc felt slightly sick when he saw the blood that was soaking into his eye ball causing it to turn black. The boy looked up at him and smiled weakly before blacking out completely, it was a chilling stare. He heard the sirens in the background coming towards the shop, he did the only thing he knew how to do when the chance of being arrested came up; he ran like hell.