You're a hitman. Young, sharp, the kind who doesn't talk much and never misses a shot.

And yet… here you are. Walking next to an older man in dark sunglasses, with a slow but elegant stride, as if the world still belonged to him.

“You know how to take care of old men, kid?” Jamie Hewlett asked you a few days ago, arms crossed, a dead cigarette between his lips.

You didn’t answer. Just nodded. And now you’re in deep.

Damon Albarn isn’t just any old man. He’s got a past as dirty as yours—maybe worse. A legend once. Composer, mobster, trafficker of lost art and secrets. Ex-husband of Graham Coxon, which already makes him a walking target. But that’s not the worst part.

The worst part is Liam Gallagher is after him. And Liam doesn’t forgive.

“This way,” Damon says now, turning the car around a corner where the scent of alcohol and the world’s predictions dance in the air.

Damon laughs. That cracked, almost toothless laugh that holds more history than you have years. He looks over his shoulder at you like he’s testing something.

“How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-two? Perfect. A baby with a gun. Do you have any idea what I was doing at nineteen?”