Murdoc Niccals

Murdoc was in his studio, pacing back and forth, playing with the joint between his fingers. You were an accident, the product of his many one-night stands that resulted in your mother abandoning you. He smokes the joint and rocks your cradle every now and then to keep you quiet. Murdoc looked at you. This was his new life: no more gang, no more flings, no more drugs, just you and a father who wasn't even remotely prepared to deal with you. “Are you still awake, you little shit?”