Disclaimer: Sing (2016) is under the ownership of Illumination Entertainment. I make not a cent on this, as such. Any original characters mentioned are mine. Any songs mentioned belong to their respective owners.

Author's Note: This is a bit of a prologue, but don't let the character tags fool you. I will try to balance it out across the cast. Also, I shall keep working on 'Flash in the Pan' and I have something set up as a sequel to the 'Jack of Hearts Hotel'. Please stay in tune for those, and enjoy this little work. I couldn't resist.

Chapter 1: Payment's Due

June 3rd...

Judith Flacco did not relish being the bad guy. She carried herself with utmost professionalism, and dotted her I's and crossed her T's like any worker vested in the job would. Some might argue she grinned when she snapped shut a contract or repossessed a property of hopefuls, but the writing and warnings embroidered the wall long before she pulled the plug and signed the paperwork.

Judith admitted she broke dreams, more dreams than most sleeping pills. Like a bully wrestler in the wide, wide world of sports, she crushed more than her fair share of businesses and retirement plans with dispassionate eloquence.

They all heard her warnings, but in the end, she couldn't really be blamed for their failures. She didn't run charity cases, as her bank reminded her. San Francisco Junction Bank, in the heart of that red and gold, expected returns with their loans, expected growth with their lent money. They didn't pour and toss alms for individuals to survive, wasting the money and finding their poor selves back in a position to beg. SFJ expected them to thrive, to flourish, to brandish new minds and new businesses, and to collect their back pay from said successes. SFJ Bank never threw good money after bad…but they had made exceptions before.

Not today. Though wearing the hat of a villain didn't please the llama, Judith had her marching orders with a particular koala.

Buster Moon had his ways out of a paper bag, but she caught on quickly enough.

In the beginning, Buster had secured ownership from Morgan Moon, as the deed in the records indicated, and at first SFJ Bank had nothing to do with him. However, Judith was a connoisseur of entertainment as much as the next layman, and she heard in her spare time the boring shows that came out of his theater. Ticket sales dropped, and from that money woes followed, and Buster committed to a course Judith had witnessed many times.

He forwarded a request for a loan.

The bankers had been reticent at first, aware of the litany of bombs that Buster produced. His natural charisma and almost carnival-barker rhetoric assuaged them over the first time, and then the second, and then the third, until he had to put up the deed.

Bills weren't getting paid on time, and every promise sounded more poisonous than before. Judith long figured that to make their money back, SFJ Bank would have to repossess the theater and sell it to the highest bidder, as Buster dipped some ownership into it as it was, just to pay back his debts. That he kept avoiding her (as if she couldn't figure out that the 'lunch breaks' were just stalling tactics), only stroked irritation, but this time, the bank had long lost their patience.

Either repossess the theater or get a new job herself.

She actually quite enjoyed the perks that came with being a rep of SFJ, so the decision, despite the need of a dastardly, hard mask, came easy. Already, the bank was losing its mind over its incoming transport of gold (another mountain of paperwork awaited Judith when she got back), and needed to get the scab that was Buster Moon out of their hair.

The decrepit pallor of the Moon Theater grew in sight as she parked. When she first started business with Moon, the theater shone in the dark, implying seductive majesty and an inviting aura that would make people want to come in. Buster, as the bank had witnessed, actually made a profit in the beginning, but word of mouth shut down the illusory grandeur. Soon Moon had to literally throw himself out on the street to get people to come to the show, hiding the moment a bank rep appeared or called.

As she parked, Judith noted that she wasn't the first to take umbrage with Moon's money woes. As if the bank harping on him wasn't bad enough (and the act of repossession and eviction, complete with documents and a phone ready to call the cops if necessary on hand), apparently he couldn't afford to pay his workers. The stage crew, numbering a dozen, stomped inside, pushing the door with betrayed hands. She could see their mouths move to the irritation of doing a job, promised pay, and failing to receive when the bill came due.

Nothing pissed off a laborer quite like a check that bounced like a brand new set of tires.

She waited in the car, as the laborers would've bottlenecked everything. Hatching her own scheme, as she needed to speak with him directly (legalities and such), she waited for the inevitable escape routine, eyeballing his little bicycle.

With a flick, her cellphone was out.

"Hello, this is Moon Theater. How may I help you?"

The old voice of Miss Crawley answered politely. It was a simple script, an old song-and-dance she had heard before. She felt business script pour out of her mouth, aware before the words even formed how this would go.

"This is Judith Flacco from SFJ Bank, calling. Is Mr. Moon available? We need to talk about his debts. The Board's very interested in having a chat."

"Oh, yes, yes," Crawley answered tactfully. She didn't have to be in the room with the old lizard to know the baton pass happening. "Can you give me a moment? Let me see if Mr. Moon is available?"

"I can hold, yes."

She could picture the scene so well Judith might as well had x-ray vision through those glasses. This surprised her the first time. It angered her the second time and third. By the seventh time, Judith drew looks of mortified shock from her fellow workers at the bank, as she perforated the air with every sort of four-letter word, traced from her to her bosses.

Crawley would waddle to where Moon undoubtedly was, and Moon would disappear like some crackpot magician. The excuses that rolled into the phone when she got back only raised her blood pressure and tightened the pressure on her head.

"Mr. Moon's on lunch right now, but he'll be back in a few hours."

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Moon had a prior engagement. He'll call you back later."

"Mr. Moon's out with some sponsors, Judith. But I'll have him call you back when he gets in!"

Though she impeded her efforts, Judith admired that kind of loyalty. It would've made the job certainly easier if the old chameleon just did the right thing, but that made what she had to do all the harder.

She waited, her cellphone on her passenger's seat as the whole chain of events played out like clockwork.

The predatory nature of this, trying to corner Moon into this, rankled her, made her feel almost grimy from the circumstances. At the end of the day, like many that failed to pay off their debts, Judith simply was doing her job. Even when the theater was auctioned off in the following days, even when Moon goes and does whatever it is that he intended to do absent a theater, she would return home and watch her shows, pay her bills and call her friends. The routine preceded this, all of them pulling stunts of pleading and pillory to try to evade the fairness of the deal. Their misfortunes weren't the fault of the bank, but their own, and they incurred a debt meant to be repaid. Money didn't stop Judith from sympathizing from the incident, to understand that, despite her brusque demeanor, she would still be destroying a career. Maybe.

But by their own fault or bad luck, the bill comes due.

She heard the noise fast enough. The roof bounced in noise as she caught Buster shimmying down the pole, intent on an escape as expected. Eyes followed the blueprint and caught the direction: Judith could predict him rushing past her car, most likely on a bike (because on no circumstances was she chasing him in these high heels). The koala clambered onto his bike, with intent of departure, and hastened to his exit…

Judith flung open her passenger door.

The massive wheel on Buster's ride smacked hard into the door: Despite its light weight, it held on to its ground.

Buster on the other hand flew like a lawn dart out of his bike seat. Judith didn't see the soaring height, only him crashing to the ground in a roundabout fashion. Sandwich bread littered the ground around him, with the muddled muck of lettuce and eucalyptus plastering the cracked sidewalk. A piece of cheese flopped onto the street before a Prius stamped the American slice onto its wheel. As for Buster himself, the suit seemed roughed up but…

"Mr. Moon," Judith called out. Already the mask fastened onto her face. Stern and unforgiving, like an electric chair at execution, the syllables of her greeting bolted into his skin. He couldn't escape.

"Oh, oh! Judith, well, fancy meeting you here. I thought-"

Judith held up her cellphone, brightly cataloguing her recent call upstairs that she did minutes ago.

"Mr. Moon. I don't appreciate my time being wasted on nonsense. Especially when your secretary's lying about your whereabouts."

Her finger flicked the phone off, cutting the connections like she cut his escape.

"Mr. Moon-"

"Now, now, Judith, I have the money-"

"Mr. Moon." A concrete bite slipped through her teeth. Furrowed eyes poised in exasperation and tired elegance shut down his own desperation, little legs trying to find an exit route, to delay, to withdraw, to prolong the inevitable. A solid solemnity answered him, warning him not to trifle her now, only to listen and obey, all in a single stony utterance, and the folders of paperwork clutched under her arms.

"Mr. Moon," She started again. "Step into my office."

An arm gestured to her car. Small by her height, but easy enough for the koala.

"Judith, please-"

She ignored his anxiety, cresting over his normally-optimistic face and sparkling eyes. Instead, her hands threw open her folder, and pulled out the legal documents, laying out all the rules and regulations to their business deal. The melancholy in his voice, scratching at her ears like escapees in a prison cell, hardened her resolve. She needed to do this, as the bill came due.

"Judith, give me a bit more time, please, I can get the money-"

"Mr. Moon. My office."

She would not brook rebellion in her paperwork. She would not make exceptions, even if St. Peter himself came down and pleaded Buster's case for him. She could not set a precedent for sap stories and ten-chances, no matter how charismatically performed or how truthful they might be. Even if he had the money waiting in a magic box just around the corner, or in a dumpster, or in a hobo's dirty trenchcoat, or if he stole it from an ice cream vendor across the street or from an overpaid basketball player from Cleveland (because damn it, she actually liked the Browns more than the Cavaliers), she still would drop the hammer on this. He could always come back and by it with the money, but no exceptions.

She glowered from under her red glasses, pointing at her car the way a mother would force her two-year old into the bathroom. Buster's eyes pleaded when his voice failed, but he lowered his head. His feet began to twitch, and Judith wagged a finger at the notion, underlining the unsaid message.

Run from me now, and I'll take everything

That was all the situation said. Buster clambered into the backseat, as Judith took the front. Unconventional to hold a repossession here, but she had a damn time just getting him face-to-face. Into her glove box she dove, producing a tape recorder. The triangle shone green, and she started.

"Mr. Moon, you are aware of the nature of this meeting?"

No response.

"Please answer clearly for the purpose of records."

"Yes."

"You are aware of the purpose of this meeting?"

"Yes."

"Do you have the money to pay your debts to San Francisco Junction Bank for the loans you have solely taken in your name, as property for the Moon Theater?"

"If you'd give me some time, I'll-"

"Do. You. Have. The. Money. Now?"

Unprofessional: She didn't mean to come off as heartless when she very obviously was ripping his heart and soul out right now. She needed to be polished and kempt during this, even as his ears continued to droop, even as sadness, the sheer awareness of what was happening, plummeted on his body.

"No. I don't."

"Do you understand that, as you cannot repay your debts with liquid assets, we will be repossessing your property, listed here as 'Moon Theater', as reparations for your failure to repay your loans on time? Due to its status as 'collateral', listed on Line F-3a?" She held up the contract, forcing him to look at his and her signatures at the bottom.

"Yes."

"You understand that, as you signed the contract for said loans, that this is all covered legally, with notary present, when you asked for said loans?"

A sigh, then… "Yes. I understand."

"Buster Moon, by the authority of the San Francisco Junction Bank, I am hereby authorized to repossess all property classified as a part of the Moon Theater, placing this under the ownership of the bank until a suitable purchaser comes and claims it. You will be expected to be off the grounds of the Theater during the time of repossession, along with belongings that are of your ownership. If you try to prevent any of this, law enforcement will be summoned. Your debts will be covered by this, but if the balance is off, we will likely pursue further legal action. Do you understand?"

"Judith, please, don't-"

"Do you understand, Mr. Moon?"

During most of this, she remained with her back to him, looking at him through the rear-view window. His face and morale folded more and more onto itself, looking akin to a crumpled memo as the reality and the consequences of his failures pummeled into his psyche. A twinge of guilt entered her mind, neatly folded under the stoic brow she brandished, and wayward thoughts flittered about. Judith had done this many times, but safety nets sprung up for many of her past collections. Buster, if his taxes had been anything to go by, didn't even have an apartment, and so the transition of property rendered him effectively homeless.

Would he be all right?

A strange thought for one literally taking away one's livelihood in a swish of magic paperwork and contractual obligations, but Judith reminded herself, she wasn't heartless. Just as much as Buster Moon paraded in his job as a manager of a failing theater, she too, took the job as a collection agent and bank representative. The perks were good, but she had given the warnings long enough. Every action had a consequence, and every non-action had a consequence.

He couldn't pay his debts.

Such, he lost his business. She guessed from the drooping of his ears that he also lost his dreams.

"Yes. I understand."

The desperation left with the unmitigated cheer he exhibited on a daily basis. It unnerved Judith to hear that absence. She had known Buster for a time, known him to be eternally peppy despite the crud that dogged the sidewalks, always happy to be in the world despite the constant ridicule his shows received. The flip in personality unnerved her, yet the job needed to be done.

"Well," Judith recovered, angling her glasses up. "Thank you for your comprehension, Mr. Moon. A third-party business will come through tomorrow and appropriate the financials. Please vacate the property by tomorrow morning."

Buster didn't move at first. As if the weight of the entire, pale Moon Theater collapsed on his head and body, he didn't move. Shrapnel in the form of legal words pierced all motivation to even take a step out of her car, it seemed. His fur turned from grey to really grey right before her eyes, but what could she do? What could she say now? It didn't matter that she simply did her job, and while she could sharpen the mask and be even more of a jerk to him, to shout at him to get out of her car, what good would it be to kick him anymore? No matter the reason or justification, she took his livelihood without a challenge, and regardless if he was solely responsible for this course of action, she couldn't help feel the guilt, as if she stamped on his hopes with but a twist of her high heels.

The bill came due, and she collected. That did not mean she necessarily liked it, to destroy dreams in the pursuit of doing her job.

She clicked off her recorder.

"Mr. Moon."

"Hmm."

"I need you to get out of my car."

"Okay."

He didn't move again. Auto preamble answered her order. The fight punctured and drained out of his system, lethargy settled in its place.

"Mr. Moon," She restarted. Firm and solid, like the bricks and mortar outside.

"Judith? Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did, but continue."

"Can I get my old girl back?"

A candlelit flicker of hope danced in his eyes. Judith related it to a similar scene, early in her career in the bank, when a vigil of 49ers fans stood by and watched Candlestick Stadium crumble into dust and debris. In honesty, Judith had no idea what the SFJ bank would do with the Moon Theater, as it would just wait for a new buyer. Whoever got to it first, well…

"If you can get the money, we can talk then, Mr. Moon. But be warned. SFJ might not be so willing to listen to you, next time. And your credit's going to take a plunge, so better check that, but…if no one else gets to it, possibly."

Moon nodded. Depression saturated his eyebrows all the same, but a goal formed in his heart, and some of that 'pie-in-the-sky' determination filtered to that hugely expressive face. Judith almost smiled, but remembered exactly what she did. Whether he came up with the money or not, remained to be seen.

"Mr. Moon. I have another appointment, so, if you'd please?"

Buster finally hobbled out of the backseat, slower than his spirited escape this morning, finally taking the hint to get out of her car and lick his wounds. Where he would go, she didn't know.

"Good luck." She said to herself, fixing on Moon as she pulled out of park. Nearly getting run over by a green truck, she moved past the koala, having done the deed.

(Unbeknownst to her, a frantic Eddie Noodleman would still be sitting for an hour at the Kraken de Luna, wondering why his best friend stood him up. A phone call later would seal the answer)

The bill came due.

-Sing-

Elsewhere...

In San Francisco, with the shift of a single act, seven lives twisted in their orbit, magnetism shaken, but not necessary stirred.

A young gorilla waits for his family, aware and fine with their misdemeanors and felonies whilst he learned under the instruction of his tutor.

A young elephant, crippled by the presence of hundreds of eyes and ears, enjoys a pleasant birthday with her family. Cringing at their requests for publicity, but fine with where she was at.

A young mother pig, fine with her nurturing lot in life as proud of her 25 children, happy to see her husband return day after day, and pleasing her kids with his refined singing.

A mouse with attitude and class, fine with the dollar bills and pewter coins that rained on his person as he seduced night and day passersby, enjoying saxophone and dulcet tones for the easing, happy mind.

A flamboyant pig with clothes as loud as his demeanor, fine with gaily prancing about in acrobatic parkour while whittling the days as a contrary fitness instructor.

A tough young porcupine, fine with waiting hand and foot on her boyfriend, fine with caring for the genius that awaited her boyfriend's inevitable rise into super stardom, with her faithfully and lovingly at her back.

A koala, no longer fine with his day to day routine, as he watches his home and passion and dream ripped from him by ink marks on a document. That he found a place to stay with his friend was fine, but the crushing of his heart did nothing for that.

As it turns out, being fine does not always equate the best. And as it turns out, sleepwalking through life, a wool sweater over the ears when finding that next plateau, does not do well for one's health.

On the day, after, a curious event occurred, one that had no obvious influence, but brought lives together for a moment. A crisis, involving a truck, can bring strangers together, at the right time, at the right place.

So: Does a river remain on its course, or does it falter when a bridge shambles in front? Do things happen as they would have, undeterred by the cards of fate? Or is that event all the necessary, lest things never come to pass.

Ash the porcupine herself would have no time to think of that, with a freakin' truck running at her and her boyfriend. That she would have be a split second to think and toss herself in the line of fire only spoke of her unconditional love for her boyfriend, however unappreciated that love might be.

She bounced like a tennis ball over the speeding truck and fell into black.

-Sing: End Chapter-