Grave Matters: A Repo! Roleplay (SevenxKawamura)

[sevenpercentsolution]

She was struggling; she was kicking, kicking, kicking, and the buckles on her boots were hitting the cement each time, creating a hollow, metallic rhythm that echoed through the otherwise empty alleyway. She had stopped screaming several minutes ago, her throat too raw for her to continue; Valerine Neamt was in the category of the less intelligent patients that he dealt with, the kind that didn't know to stay quiet while running, who gave away their position with their panic.

She'd nearly lost him too, just for a moment.

But either way, he'd have found her - they never got away from him for long, because there was no where they could go that he couldn't find them, and there was no stopping him.

There were several Repo Men - it wasn't an elite club, but it did require a certain type of person to do the job, and usually the sociopathic were the prime candidates. Seventeen years ago, the mild-mannered Nathan Wallace would have been disgusted by the very idea, but -

- things had changed.

Initially, he hadn't been driven by blood lust - he wasn't sure if that was the case now, it was hard to tell - he had been driven by the need to keep his daughter safe, safe from the truth, safe from Rotti, safe from GeneCo. He had signed the contract because he couldn't go to jail and leave Shilo alone in the world, there was no one else who would take her, and he knew there was no where safe in the city - he'd had to do it. Starting out had been difficult; the first one he'd killed was a man who was in his twenties and had his whole life ahead of him, and Nathan had brought the heart back to GeneCo and vomitted afterwards. He'd hated himself, but at least Shilo hadn't been old enough to recognize there was something wrong - and that, perhaps, had been his sole comfort. He'd held his baby girl all night after that, clutching Shilo close to his chest, realizing that even he wasn't good enough for her -

- how could anyone else be? That was the night he'd decided he couldn't let her leave, he couldn't let her face what was out there, it would destroy her. After all, he was a man in his thirties back then, a doctor who had been destroyed in a single day - what chance did a little girl stand in a world as twisted as theirs was?

But seventeen years of killing changed a guy, and it had become second nature - he went somewhere else when he did it now. It was just the job.

He removed a glittering, surgically sharp knife and slit the back of Valerie's leather jacket, yanking the fabric apart to reveal her back, still scarred from the recent surgery - when the air hit her skin, she began to scream with renewed fervor.

"Shh-shh," he said, and picked up a bit of broken brick from near his foot and soundly thumped her in the back of the head with it. She let out a croak, and began to spasm as her brain hemhorraged from the hit, and once her death rattle was over, he cut into her back and wrenched out her spine with a disturbing finesse, whistling a sprightly tune to himself as he did so.

He jammed the spine into a bag and rose to his feet, a dark, blood-spattered figure with only one purpose.

And he had a busy night ahead of him.

 

[Kawamura]

Dead cities at night had a certain quality about them.

Sometimes, he even forgot where the graves ended and the tenements began. Oh, sure, there was the lack of crosses, but dead bodies? At this time of night, you came across quite a few of them. Usually in the back of some truck, sprawled on top of rotting food and old magazines. Gravity spread the blood then, or sometimes, sometimes, thereâ??d be a victim that was still alive, still bleeding out their heartâ??s own blood and clutching weakly at the cavity that used to house a kidney or intestines.

Graverobber was usually kind enough to wave. Very few were polite enough to wave back.

Tonight, though, was silent. Heavy silence, that pushed on his ear drums and made him whistle to chase it away. Even the, it was too quiet. This wasnâ??t death. Death tended to fade into the background, static to the patrols, the constant announcements and the sound of his own heart underneath a scarred chest. This wasâ?¦ something else.

He hadnâ??t really heard the screaming. Screaming was something else to tune out. People screamed all the time: maybe their noses were falling off after one too many rhinoplasties, maybe someone didnâ??t pay them after theyâ??d been on their knees for the last half hour. Or, maybe, he thought as he heard the tune echoing off old, high walls, theyâ??d forgotten to pay a little too long.

The dealer sank down to a crouching position, movements slow as to not alert the predator down the alley to his right. Down here it smelled of fear and shit, most people losing their bowels right at death, another thing GeneCo had failed to make designer. He didnâ??t generally get this smell in the graveyards, but Graverobber wasnâ??t picky. A sensible man might have run, but heâ??d been doing this long enough that all he saw was the easy profits. He owed no money, and maybe Repo-man -- because thatâ??s who the man strolling off with the latex suit and grisly package was, no mistaking it â?? would have professional courtesy.

And maybe heâ??d sampled just a drop of his own merchandise. Pure, liquid courage that was, injected straight into the body without having to go through all the pipes like alcohol. Unlike the scalpel sluts he sold Zydrate to, he had the sense to wait, counting up in his mind to twenty before rushing to the body.

Graverobber kept his feet wide apart so he wouldnâ??t slip in the blood. Ah. Spinal. She was dead, then. Whistling jauntily to himself, he set to work checking pockets and the body for metals and money. He had a few empty vials, his work night being cut short by a nasty tangle that involved a few too many GeneCo cops. Hmm. Two more vials, in fact. Repo would probably have at least one more victim.

Still humming, Graverobber pocketed the vial and set to following the Repo-man.

Whoever said Zydrate gave people good ideas?

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Most of the time, Nathan averaged a few repossessions a week, or at least, that was how it used to be - but lately, the GeneCo repo list had grown extensively, and Nathan had found himself being called in every night, hastily leaving the house late at night, throwing his usual excuse to Shilo.

House call. Emergency. Patient in a desperate situation, no one else to do it. Life or death.

And Shilo never questioned it, because she knew better. Of course, she had heard of the Repo Men before; after all, she watched television and listened to the radio, so there were always the rumours, but GeneCo would never expressly admit to having Repo Men working for them, regardless of the law Rotti had ensured was passed regarding organ repossessions.

Nathan, fearing that Shilo might somehow connect his work as a doctor to GeneCo, had managed to convince her that Repo Men were just stories made to scare people into paying their debts quickly.

But lately, he felt as though his excuses were wearing thin; the job had become more demanding, and he was sure that there was some sadism deep inside of Rotti Largo that was influencing him to call Nathan for so many repossessions when there were other Repo Men under his employ. Rotti seemed to enjoy assigning Nathan to the jobs, enjoyed the power it gave him - sometimes he even made a point of catching one of the patients himself and bringing Nathan to the cold sub-basement of GeneCo so he could watch him do it. Watch him kill.

And though Rotti would never say so, Nathan knew it was because Rotti wanted to torment him and to keep him from spending time with his daughter; he just didn't know why.

So that night, instead of going home to Shilo, he found himself continuing on his way down the twisting back alleys; it was a warm evening, so the GeneCo uniform was stifling, and he was hyper aware of his own body and the way the vinyl and leather was twisting around his skin. It was uncomfortable, he felt heavy and inhuman, and now that he was away from the body, he felt disgusted by the spine in his hand and disturbed by his own whistling.

He thought about Shilo.

She would need to take her medication soon; he would be sure to call her.

Another back alley, another side street, and soon the Repo Man was standing outside of a small, rundown home; the place appeared as though it had once been pleasant and dreamy, but the world around it had become disgusting and grimy and had cast it in darkness.

The white picket fence groaned open, and the Repo Man slipped through it, a whisper of shadow. He made a slow circle around the home, he established the doorways, the windows; his target was inside, asleep on a beaten recliner in his living room, the television turned on.

Edward Muth.

GeneCo property for reposession: brain stem.

Standing on the dimly lit front porch, the Repo Man flexed his fingers, and the leather squeaked around his hand as he turned the handle, marvelling at how some people never locked their doors.

The sitcom on the television was filled with bizarre, cartoonish sound effects as the Repo Man hurled Edward Muth onto the floor like a ragdoll, and his screams were punctuated by the recorded applause as he scalped him, peeling away bits of him until the struggling ceased and the blood had soaked into the carpet, creating a wide red ring with both of them at ground zero. He cracked the skull open like a clamshell, cut through the membrane above the brain, and wrenched it out of what was left of the head, clipping off the spinal attachments and yanking away the stamped GeneCo brain stem.

He dropped the rest on the floor, while a cheerful theme song played in the background, and an overly enthusiastic character chirped a signature line to the sound of canned laughter:

"Now that's entertainment!"

 

[Kawamura]

Amazing how the monster seemed to chase away every living thing within a block of it. Graverobber stalked after him, keeping to the shadows and the figureâ??s own pace. It hadnâ??t taken long to catch up: Graverobber had long enough legs and the Repo Man wasnâ??t the six-foot-six the stories said. Sorta short, really, the masked figures always looked so much taller in the tabloids.

The evening was warm, though he barely minded. Z did that, made all the petty little problems of the flesh dim in its cool glow. Plus, his job called for layers. Heâ??d recently just replaced his coat, having lost one he was rather fond of when heâ??d been grabbed a few weeks back. Apparently Amberâ??s boy toys didnâ??t like their rough housing, even if their boss had been the one to offer Graverobber a chance at the new parts. The porch, rotting wood with little support, creaked under his thick boots as he stepped up, and he froze, listening for any sound that would say â??The Repo Manâ??s heard you and his comingâ??. A loud â??thumpâ??, though, had covered it up, and he tiptoed towards the door, every groan of the wood hidden by screams.

By the time he had got into the house proper, the screams had stopped, and Graverobber was cursing the man for shutting up so quickly. Jesus. People couldnâ??t shut the fuck up when you wanted them to, but as soon as you needed them to keep you from getting scalped by the Repo Man? They took that time to die quietly, not a gurgle or a seizure to spare. Lucky for him, though, that he was following the sort of murderer that took pride in his work, tacky music and all.

The blood added color to the house, really, better than the peeling, faded wallpaper and mouldy carpet. Probably improved the market value, at least for the squatters who moved in after someone came in to get the body. Heâ??d have to remember this place, since squatters generally meant Zydrate addicts, and Zydrate addicts meant a wider consumer base, the man thought as he watched the death doctor go at the body. There was a certain art to it, you had to admit, the way he sawed through bone and tendon to get to the stem. Not like that part of the body was all that well protected, but it came with all sorts of fibers to pick out. This wasnâ??t just some hack and slash job like they made it into in the movies and zines. No, this was precision most surgeons would kill for (ha!).

Graverobber pressed back against the wall of the hallway as the monster dropped his victim. It wasnâ??t fear that made him push back so he could feel the way his shirt stuck his back from the sweat. It was a desire to keep out of the Repo Manâ??s way, like some sort of sick change over in shifts. This time, though, the man had lead him to a whole house of things to loot, not just a body. Made his life all that much easier.

He knelt down, still keeping out of the way, and started to unfold his tool kit. There was enough room in the doorway that Repo Man would be able to go by him, even with the vinyl reproduction of scrubs he was wrapped in.

It was rather professional, all in all, he thought as he reached for the syringe and empty vial, humming along to the jingle on the tube. When the doctor saw him, and Graverobber was sure he would being the only animate thing around for a few blocks that he wasnâ??t contracted to kill, the man turned his head up and nodded, stained lips widening into a smile. Now it was just waiting. He wouldnâ??t get in the way, not while the other was on the job.

Professional courtesy and all.

Graverobber liked the sound of that. And one GeneCo employee who wasnâ??t paid to shoot him on sight wouldnâ??t care. He was doing a service, after all, helping with the clean up. And helping the man stay in work, too. More Zydrate addicts meant more people brave enough to go for a surgery they wouldn't be able to afford. Kept them both in their jobs.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Medication reminder.

Medication reminder.

Nathan's head snapped up from where he was busily packaging the removed GeneCo part, and he wrapped a bit of plastic around the rest of the brain stem, setting it aside before lifting his communications watch close to his face; his gloves were covered in slivers of flesh and flecks of brain matter. Humans really made for ugly messes.

Half-kneeling in the thick, congealing puddle of blood, the watch automatically dialed for Shiloh,

"Precious, did you take your medication?" he asked, his voice difficult to hear over the sound of the television.

"I'm taking it now, dad - are you actually watching television?"

"No sweetheart, my patient is; he's just resting now." Nathan said, and reached out to switch off the television, leaving the room empty of noise, save for the sound of his own voice, "I'll be home soon."

He rose to his feet then; the front of his uniform was streaked with gore and the legs were covered in a thick layer of blood - he wiped the flat of his blade across the leg to remove some of the blood, and resheathed it like some horrifying, modern day samurai. He stepped out of the house then, and he'd only just stepped out of the door when he froze in place; he stared straight ahead for a long moment before very slowly turning his head; the masked face was pointed directly at the Graverobber, an expressionless, bloodied thing that stood in contrast to the smiling, laid back petty thief.

The Repo Man said nothing; he didn't even nod his head in return, but simply stared for an uncomfortably long moment before turning his head back towards the street, and continuing on his way.

He found himself wondering if he'd had an audience for that previous kill - but no, he'd seen that particular vagrant around before. Nathan made a point of staying away from most people, but from what he'd gathered, the man was a vulture - possibly one of the dealers that littered the streets. Chances were, he was going in to take what was left.

And Nathan wasn't going to stop him.

He had one more stop to make that night.

 

[Kawamura]

Uncomfortable for one of them, perhaps. Graverobber was used to staring into the face of dead people, just like he was doing now after having slipped past the Repo Man. The man on the floor was a mess, blood oozing every where now, slow as it became tacky, but that didnâ??t matter. It was just as easy to turn him over and tap the needle into the nostril, giving it just enough shove to break through bone and cartilage.

The Repo Man was long gone when tucked another filled vial into the various straps on his hips. Perfect. And now he had time to loot the place, checking the floorboards, drawers, and any nook and cranny with a practiced air. Whoever the doctorâ??s patient had been, he certainly wasnâ??t the richest of men, but it was enough to make the time Graverobber spent leisurely looking through his stuff worthwhile. By the time the first junkie had come by, noting the opened door and lights, he had already disappeared with the valuables.

Old Ray was up when he got back to the run down apartment he kept when he wasnâ??t sleeping in a dumpster on someone elseâ??s bed. No one knew how the old guyâ??s actual name, but he was a former blind black man with thick sunglasses and the nickname had stuck. â??Rentâ??s due.â? Graverobber rolled his eyes, pulling out vials and putting them down on the manâ??s desk with a click. Ray turned his head from the computer he had been staring at, a protein folding sim throwing color onto his old face as he counted. â??This is too much,â? he said, giving two of the glowing vials a flick towards Graverobber with long, ashy fingers.

â??I need information.â? Again, there was a stare that might have been uncomfortable for a man that wasnâ??t used to seeing never-closing eyes, then a soft grunt as Ray looked back to his screen. Ray knew everything that happened in the city, probably more so than anyone save Rotti and his cameras. Knew, for example, that Graverobber couldn't get a place for miles, and that homeless dealers would pay for rent in a mix of cash and Zydrate. â??Thereâ??s a Repo Man. About this tall, with multiple assignments.â?

Ray snorted. â??Repo Men all look the same,â? he said, blinking his eyes slowly behind thick lenses. His GeneCo bought eyes were paid for fully, maybe twenty years ago, and were starting to wear out, but a slow blink meant he was lying. Graverobber clinked down a third extra vial, and Ray sighed. â??Boy, if youâ??ve got a death wish, I could just give you something painless now.â?

â??You know when repossessions occur. Iâ??ve seen you take in the bodies.â? It was no big secret that Ray did back alley surgeries for those who needed them or, better, for those that didnâ??t but paid well. Amber had come in once or twice because her father had killed her surgeons in a fruitless attempt to stop his daughterâ??s habit. â??I just want to know when the man has another run.â?

â??Tomorrow.â? Graverobber arched an eyebrow, and Ray shrugged. â??The one you described, it sounds like the one that Rottiâ??s running ragged.â? The old man reached down into his desk, pulling out a folder of cheap printouts, nothing like the glossy things Rotti had thrown on his desk every morning. â??Most Repo Men donâ??t do multiple hits a night. I can give you the repossessions weâ??ll see for the next week or so. Most of those will be his.â? Ray looked up, ersatz eyes completely white as he searched Graverobberâ??s pale face for something. Then he grinned, a big smile showing off teeth yellowed from too many cigarettes and caffeine drinks. â??Shame. You were my longest lasting dealer. Make sure you refer me to your replacement.â?

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

By the time he got home, the sun was nearly above the horizon, casting a red glow over the entire city and reflecting orange off of the slick, reflective vinyl. His last assignment had turned out to be a runner, and Nathan had chased him for five blocks before he'd managed to back him into an alleyway to finish the job; the guy had fought back, and eventually he had been subdued.

With the Repo Man, this had consisted of stabbing the man multiple times; normally Nathan didn't do it so messily, but he'd admittedly been a little frustrated at that point. It was purely due to seventeen years of practised aim that he had left the required liver intact instead of slashing it to ribbons by mistake, and for a long moment after he was done, he took a seat on an overturned milk crate in the alleyway, and simply sat there to try and collect himself again, ignoring the slowly cooling body beside him.

Some days, he wasn't quite sure who he was anymore, and it was only punctuated by the exhaustion he was feeling.

So he had dragged himself home just before the sun rose, tossed the organs into the freezer, and sprayed down his uniform until all of the gore had drained away, and the smell of blood was finally gone. He showered, he went upstairs, and for a few blissful minutes, he watched Shilo sleep like a little angel.

And then he collapsed onto the couch, not even possessed of enough energy to bother getting to his room, and after five solid, undisturbed hours of sleep, he woke up with a stiff neck to remind him of why he should muster up the strength to get to his room next time; he was getting too old for this.

He appeared in Shilo's room for a second time with his hair sticking out at bizarre angles, and she looked up from her book, and did a double-take.

"Dad," she said, her eyebrows high, "You look - terrible."

Nathan blinked sleepily,

"I had a late night." he said simply, trying to clear the cobwebs.

"People on the radio were talking about the Repo Man again." Shilo said, her eyes pinned to his hair, watching as though she feared it would burst into flame at any moment - she wasn't used to seeing him unkempt, he was usually precise and well-maintained.

"It's all hype. There is no Repo Man."

"But people keep reporting bodies."

"And this - 'Repo Man' myth is just a method to explain it away. There's never any proof, Shi." Nathan said, and Shilo pulled a face that indicated she had no argument left; she just nodded her head, and Nathan gently ran a hand against her face, "Come on, you should have some breakfast."

They moved down the staircase together, and for the first time that week, Nathan felt a spike of joy - just to be having breakfast with his daughter. However, he froze for an instant at the bottom of the staircase, feeling his stomach drop when he saw an envelope sitting below the mail slot - roughly the size of a reposession file.

"What's that?"

"Just some patient files." Nathan said, picking up the folder and trying desperately not to look grim; it felt thick - there was more than one order inside.

"Aren't you going to look at them?"

"It's not urgent, sweetheart. Come on, breakfast."

 

[Kawamura]

The flat was small, cramped, and, like much of the city, bleary and grey. He saw no point in decorating it, after all, it was just a place to sleep and keep his clothes so they wouldnâ??t get stolen by whatever man or woman he was sleeping with. The only thing that might have been mistake as a personal effect was a small, blooming plant with a long stamen and a waxy petal. He had found it once, a few months back, and the damned thing seemed so hardy it had lived in the low light and low care of his place. Sometimes, he remembered to water it. The little houseplant did better than most of the people he knew.

The Repo Manâ??s next target was a young girl of a dubious age. Well, not so dubious now that he had her birth date. She was a pretty little thing with large dark eyes, long black hair and a wonderful mouth, always willing to throw in a little something extra to feed her Zydrate addiction. Enthusiasm. And she always made her payments, at least, to him. Obviously not to GeneCo.

But there was something odd. When the Graverobber showed up, there was no screams, no smell, no blood. There was just that young girl standing on the corner. When she saw him, her eyes lit up, and he returned the smile just as easily. â??Iâ??m so glad to see you,â? she said, pressing against him. Now he could see fear. She was shaking. â??I-I got problems.â?

â??Yeah?â? He traced her lip with a clean finger, the tip smearing the excess of lipstick. Like a snake charmer, he reached down, pulling out a bright blue vial, dark eyes never leaving her face. â??Does this help?â? She bit her lip and nodded, pulling out money with a shaking hand.

â??Here,â? she said, pushing the handful into his own hands. It was too much. Probaly all the money she had on her. â??Just give me a hit, quick.â? Graverobber hadnâ??t meant to actually use the stuff on her. After all, Repo was going to be around any minute now. It was a waste of perfectly good Z. But she was so young, and she had been a good lay. With a flourish, he reached for the gun, popping the little vial in, then pressed it against her neck. She wouldn't feel a thing.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

He was exhausted; Nathan had fallen asleep at the table, and Shilo had worriedly tried to prop his head up on a cereal box until he assured her he was just fine. He was just a little tired.

But this was time he could use to spend with Shilo, and he wasn't going to let it slip through his fingers; so he drank coffee, he splashed cold water on his face, he did everything in his power to have the energy just to be with her, and they spent most of the daylight hours doing the pointless things that fathers should do with their daughters. For instance, watching the inane television shows that she was so enthralled by, listening to her enthusiastic recounting of previous episodes of the drama-laden story while he tried not to let his eyes cross.

Playing board games with her, and listening to her shrieks of joy when he made the jenga tower collapse. Again.

Visiting her mothers tomb with her, and making sure she wore her mask.

And then night fell, and Shilo returned to her room, and Nathan got back into his suit, took the files, and dissappeared into the darkness of the city and his own mind.

Elaine Summers.

GeneCo property for reposession: lungs.

According to her file, her place of residence had the tendency of frequently changing, but the document provided a layout of the neighbourhood she tended to ghost around - another lost soul in the city, another girl who turned tricks for drugs. He moved through the area with ease, familiar with every twisting back alley and underground station in the city at this point, and it didn't take long to find her.

And when he did, he had to stop for an instant to question how much caffeine he'd had that day, to wonder if maybe he was more sleep deprived than he'd initially believed - but no, a second glance told him that his eyes weren't deceiving him. Summers was there, slumped against the side of a dumpster with her eyes half-closed in a drug induced haze, but -

- she looked just like Shilo.

From her dark hair, to her pale skin, to the way she dressed, she was nearly Shilo's twin, and even the Repo side of the equation was stunned by it, enough that he found himself checking the file a second time. He was hoping, praying that he had misread it, that somehow this was the wrong person, that he wouldn't have to - but no, it was her. She was older than she appeared to be, old enough to have signed her own death warrant when she signed for her new organs - and the rules were the rules, weren't they?

Nathan lingered there for a long time, leaning his head back against the brick; he wanted to wish the night away. He wanted to pretend this didn't have to happen.

But eventually, he stepped out of the shadows, and he moved towards her like a man walking to the gallows; Summers barely seemed aware of his presence, too drugged up to even care that her death was standing in front of her, holding a knife that could have skinned a crocodile.

Nathan felt his throat restrict as he looked down at her and he went down on his haunches; he reached out and touched his fingers to her face, and she moved a little, her eyes flicking up to him, her pupils massive. He closed his eyes for a long moment; he couldn't do this.

But then, he didn't have to; the Repo Man took the wheel then, impatiently shoving Nathan aside, reminding him that this girl wasn't his daughter, she was just another job.

And she never even made a sound; there wasn't a mumble or a protest, only a small gasp when she died a quick death from the knife across her jugular, but he did it so hard and so hastily that he nearly beheaded her with the single swipe. He worked in silence then, but he extracted the lungs through her back despite the fact it took more effort and required more bones to be broken - while the Repo Man could do the job, he knew that Nathan couldn't have her looking at him while he did it.

Just another job.

And when he had clipped the lungs away, and the gaping, ruined body laid at his feet, he had to stagger out of the alleyway quickly, because his stomach began to churn.

 

[Kawamura]

He wasnâ??t used to sympathizing with his clients, Graverobber thought as he dropped into a dumpster. Bad for business and all. Usually they were just trash. The dealer rarely liked them, obnoxious, clinging things that they were. He had been waiting, watching for the Repo Man, and Old Ray was good to his word. The man always was. There was the night doctor, though the body language was different today, or, rather, his gait was. It was slow now, more like he was the one dying that night.

The only sound he heard today wasnâ??t screaming. It was the wet sound of cutting into bodies that bled and bled, and he could barely even make that over the sound of the Repo Manâ??s own costume. Usually the sound of vinyl and sweat made him think of different things, but tonight, well.

Professional, right.

Graverobber propped his boots up on the side of the dumpster, not even noticing the smell of trash. Bodies got nasty real quick and dumpsters were easy places to stash bodies, so they were emptied regularly and often. In any case, the body he was leaning back on was clothed and fresh, much less decomposed than the average body he worked with. This might be easier, but it would net him less Zydrate: heâ??d have to go out to the grave yards anyways. After all, how many repoâ??d organs would the man have in one night? Two, three? That wasnâ??t even enough for one Amber visit, let alone his usual customers at the addict support meetings. It wouldn't even be enough for more info from Ray.

But this was turning into quite the hobby. Graverobber hadnâ??t felt this excited about a run since his first couple of times diving into the graveyards to pay for a new respiratory system to replace his own flagging one. There was something about the Repo Man, the general interest every boy had in the boogieman, and here was the mother of all. Or father, really.

The next footsteps were less steady, like a drunkâ??s. Graverobberâ??s streaked head popped up comically as he looked about him then he gracefully climbed out of the dumpster. He wasnâ??t as quiet as he could have been, making sure he dropped with enough speed that his boots would click on the old concrete. The thief rested a hand against the dumpsterâ??s cool metal, looking back towards the figure at the end of the alleyway. Jesus, was he retching?

Now this was interesting. Graverobber circled the body slowly, taking in the odd path the Repo Man had taken to her lungs, his own aching in sympathy. They were long paid for, Zydrate-dealing being an amazing way to pay off oneâ??s debts if they kept their ass from getting shot. Whistling a theme from one of the boring shows the Largos put on the only channel, the dealer crouched down, displaying his tools with all the flourish of a surgeon being watched at the operating table. Why had he done it this way? The Graverobber turned the girlâ??s head toward him, the neck having extra mobility for being nearly, well, gone, and forced the syringe into the brain cavity.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

He left the alleyway and didn't look back; he wasn't sure he would be able to take it right then, so he walked at a careful pace through some twisting side alleys, trying to get his mind back on track. He couldn't be distracted by this - he had another long night ahead of him, and though he was wide awake now - partly from his own mortification - he still felt completely drained.

And by the looks of it, he would have many nights like this one ahead of him; killing people wasn't easy work, there was a reason serial killers only did it once in a while, after all. It probably lost its fun for them if they did it too often.

But right then, all Nathan felt was guilt, and it was gnawing at him the way that his very first kill had - not Marni, that was a separate hell in itself, but the first kill that GeneCo had forced him to do in order to keep his secret.

So Nathan stopped walking, he paused in a back alley, leaning his head against the brick wall, the lens on his mask flashing under the dim street lights, and he closed his eyes, but even then he could see the girl's big brown eyes, and how much they looked like Shilo's. His mind was swimming from the pain of it, and his head and neck ached vaguely from the exhaustion; he put his head in his hands for a moment, and briefly considered removing the mask so the night air could touch his skin, but he reconsidered it. No, it was best to keep moving, to get to the next target and get it done fast - anything he didn't finish that night would creep into the next, and he could end up with an endless list.

Thinking about Shilo helped; remembering that she was safe in her bed, knowing she was protected, that was enough.

So he kept going.

Peter Mendez.

GeneCo property for reposession: heart and kidneys.

He found Mendez outside of the store he owned, smoking a cigar, and for the second time that night, Nathan had to make sure he wasn't hallucinating - but no such luck. It turned out that the picture on the file didn't do him any justice, because Mendez was roughly six-foot-five and built of solid muscle, a man with a wide jaw, handlebar moustache, and fists the size of a normal human's head.

Repo ran his tongue over his teeth, and he didn't show any of the hesitation he'd had with Summers - no, this was the same stride that came with all of the other kills, the hard-stepping gait; Mendez saw him, froze for an instant, and then turned to face him, one predator to another.

There were no words; Mendez knew what was happening, and he knew why, and it became apparent that he had forseen it because he was armed, and Repo had to duck and roll to avoid the knife that was swung at his neck. He came up again at Mendez's side, and he jammed his knife into the man's thigh, a motion that should have put anyone down, but only seemed to irritate him, because Mendez swung the knife a second time, and clipped the Repo Man across the arm before the blade could be avoided.

He dropped again to avoid a third swing, and tugged his knife back out of Mendez's leg; the wound immediately began to gush, soaking the entire leg and part of the Repo Man's uniform in seconds, but Mendez had the pain tolerance and the adrenaline to grab hold of Repo and bodily toss him, sending dust and dirt flying up around him. Immediately, Mendez began to walk towards the Repo Man, but finally seemed to realize the extent of his injury as his leg gave out beneath him, the severed thigh muscle refusing to carry him.

Forcing himself to his feet, the Repo Man approached with a swift and eerie grace, and with Mendez on his knees, he was able to access the man's throat - it only took two swings of the blade, one on each side of the throat, the two cuts meeting up at the centre and making Mendez into an organic fountain, his throat jettisoning blood.

And when he crumpled to the ground, the Repo Man straddled Mendez's barrel chest and began to cut, pausing only once when his own injury protested.

The work went quickly, but the effort involved was greater than with any normal sized person; the muscles were thicker and tougher to cut through, and the ribcage was a struggle, to the point where he had to brace his feet against one side to crack it open so he could access the chest cavity. When he had the body opened up, he snipped out the heart and removed the kidneys, wrapping them for delivery.

 

[Kawamura]

Now the second one, the second one was a joke.

Graverobber found the whole thing hilarious. Not only was the Repo Man not the giant monster of a man he had been lead to believe through the stories, but now he was facing up against the man he should have looked like.

Repo Men probably smashed just as messily as normal folks. That would be the end of his new Repo-watching hobby, that was for sure. Probably for the best. Graverobber didnâ??t need an obsession. Wasnâ??t good for business. Made him spend his nights like some creepy love-sick stalker, following a masked murderer around the city instead of exhuming corpses like he should be.

At least heâ??d get a fight out of the deal. Graverobber didnâ??t even bother pressing up against anything in an attempt to make himself less visible. He just watched, pale face turned to the scene in front of him. Too bad he didnâ??t have anyone to bet with. He would have liked to put a bet on his pet Repo Man. Couldnâ??t see a thing under that outfit, but he imagined the man was scrappy if he had lived this long.

Not that he knew the average life of a Repo Man. He figured the job had a pretty high burn-out rate live robbing graves, only they didnâ??t get killed in the end. But seeing the Hulk, here, maybe that wasnâ??t true. Especially since this giant of a man was also armed, unlike the little girl he had killed earlier.

The fight didnâ??t quite proceed the way he had expected. Repo Man had a certain elegance in fighting that was oddly attractive, even when he was hurt. It was like watching some big animal of prey, like he had been bred to do this. At first, the doctor looked like he really was in trouble, his victim not dropping even with that nasty wound to the thigh. Goliath probably didnâ??t appreciate the finesse as the man downed him, carving into his torso with that long instrument he was coming to associate with repossession.

His first steps were slow, hesitant as he crossed the street towards the now vacant corner market. A store like that would mean currency in the back and maybe even food. Gravel crunched under his boots as he came forwards, moving around so he didnâ??t come from behind the Repo Man, crouching down near the giantâ??s shaved head. The hyena was braver now, coming up to the kill while the lion was still feeding. Bad move, probably, but he had noticed the translucent guard over the eyes and wanted to see something that wasnâ??t vinyl. Nonchalantly, he began to hum, repeating his ritual of Zydrate collection.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

He had barely finished; he had only just clipped out the kidneys and bagged them, the body was still warm and pumping what little blood was left in it, spraying it across the Repo Man and the ground in a spreading, slowly congealing pool - he had barely finished, and he heard footsteps. He didn't move from where he was perched on Mendez's body, like a predator refusing to leave behind the carcass, but he watched, his hand still clutching the knife - it was the vulture from the previous evening, the one he had seen ghosting outside of Muth's house.

Once was a chance meeting, but twice - no, this was no coincidence.

Repo realized he had a stalker, but he suspected it was for a symbiotic purpose - he took the organs, and this grave robber took whatever the deceased left behind. It made him suddenly wonder if the man had been watching when he'd killed Elaine Summers, and if he'd seen everything that had just happened between him and Mendez. He watched Graverobber in silence, only his eyes visible through the red barrier of the mask visor, watching the other man - yes, he was scavenging, but there was a surrealism to it, he was so bold that he hadn't even waited for the area to be cleared.

Perhaps it was because no one was insane enough to come that close when the Repo Man was still in the area; most were too afraid. But this one - this one was confident.

He cocked his head to the side, an oddly cartoonish motion with the mask on.

Repo rose then, and there was so much blood collected in the front of the uniform that it actually splashed onto the ground when he stood, spattering his boots, and he went to put away his knife, only to falter noiselessly, nearly dropping it when his arm gave another protest. The cut had gone through the uniform, slicing the GeneCo label in half and cutting through the shirt he wore underneath, digging into tissue and muscle; he refrained from touching it - his gloves were too bloody.

He put the knife away, and he watched Graverobber for a moment longer before turning and heading away; he suspected it wouldn't be the last time he ran into the other man.

 

[Kawamura]

The thief stopped in his motions too, giving Repo Man a crooked smirk as if the whole scene was no big deal. As if he often crossed paths with Repo Men, even shared the same body with them. Unlike the GeneCo employee, the entirety of his face was visible, expression accentuated with the white base he was so fond of.

His easy self-assurance had worked better than he would have hoped. Graverobber had expected some negative response, perhaps in the form of shooing him off or those eyes narrowing under the colored plastic, but there was nothing save for surprise from the other man. Obviously, carrion feeders like himself were rarely so brave. Taking the Zydrate from the corpse was such an easy task now, like breathing or pick pocketing, that he could watch his partner from the corner of his vision as he worked. Movement was especially easy to see.

Repoâ??s face might be hidden, but his body language was crystal clear. He was confused and hurt. Funny. You didnâ??t hear about that in the tabloids. Repo Men were invincible there. Made for better stories, after all. Though the masked figure covered in his victimâ??s blood was true. Who knew the giant had so much blood in him? Graverobber knew his own coat was soaking in the stuff and, unlike the doctorâ??s vinyl, it would stain, but one extra stain on the natty faux-leather hardly mattered.

Itâ??d be like trim or something. Not that he desired to feel pretty for the whores he generally saw. Graverobber pulled out the needle with a little pop. This guy was big enough heâ??d probably get two vials out, but the second would probably be of such poor quality heâ??d waste the glass. Nah. Better to head to the graveyards. Besides, the GeneCo flunkies probably missed him giving them a good run. Theyâ??d end up complacent, and he couldnâ??t have that.

Finished, Graverobber watched the Repo Man leave. This time he didnâ??t say anything, but the man hadnâ??t gutted him for coming close. Before he turned away, though, he did chance a raised eyebrow, almost flirting, the sort traditionally productive members of the work force did over water coolers or cubicle walls or whatever (he hadnâ??t had a normal desk job in his life). He did manage not to add an â??Iâ??ll see you later, thenâ?? to the other manâ??s back, knowing he was pushing his luck as it was.

Next time. Now, he thought to himself as he swung his back over his shoulder and stretched his legs, now he had to make a trip to the graves. He had all night, if he wished it. Maybe he'd find a little extra so he'd have time for his new entertainment.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Rotti didn't need to look up from his papers to know who was standing on the other side of his desk; a small pile of frozen organs landed just by his hands,

"Nathan," Rotti said pleasantly, looking up and finding himself almost taken aback by the sight of the other man; as usual, Nathan was dressed in a crisp, clean suit, his hair carefully arranged - but his face was drawn, thinner than usual, and his eyes were lined with a sort of crazed sleeplessness just behind the thick frames of his glasses. He was presently lurking near the desk, leaning his hands onto it in a way that displayed precisely how exhausted he was, and a closer inspection told him that the side of Nathan's face was bruised.

Just behind him, Rotti could see Luigi watching - his oldest son had always had a strange respect for the Repo Man, and he suspected it was due to the fact his son saw a kindred spirit, a killer just like him - and Amber was lingering nearby, her eyes half-lidded, lined with heavy make-up, and she was looking at Nathan like he was a vial of Zydrate.

"You're looking a little rundown." Rotti added, and Nathan said nothing, simply stared at him with his mouth pulled into a thin line, clearly unamused, "Why don't you have a seat."

"You look like you had a good night." Luigi quipped, laughter evident in his nasal voice, but it was in such a way that he sounded as though he wished he'd been there for it. He'd seen Nathan Wallace kill before; it was a thing of beauty.

And Amber slipped up behind Nathan, chewing on her bottom lip; she was clearly high, because she began to run her fingers through his hair, and he had to shrug her off irritably, trying to ignore the lingering sensation of warmth on his skin, too tired and too angry to deal with the Largo children and their disturbing habits.

"How many more, Rotti?" he asked.

"It's been a busy month, Nathan." Rotti replied, lifting his shoulders in a shrug, and he looked pointedly at the heart and kidneys, "But you clearly did just fine, after all, you took down that goliath."

"How many more?" he repeated, and his voice had changed in a way that made Luigi sit up, his interest piqued.

Rotti gave a long-suffering sigh, and reached into his desk, removing another file folder, which Nathan took silently; he turned then, and nearly ran into Amber, who didn't seem to mind right then, watching him through her fake eyelashes as he moved around her. Luigi gave him one of his horrible, crooked smiles,

"See ya at the next drop off." Luigi chortled, and Nathan left GeneCo feeling vaguely dirty from standing so close to the Largos, still trying to shake off the feeling of fingers in his hair. He was disgusted by the entire Largo family, including Amber Sweet, but her touch was lingering in a way that disturbed him, and he knew it was because of how long it had been since that sort of thing had happened.

Not since Marni. He had barely even considered it since Marni.

He slept on the couch again, face down with his arm hanging over the side, and more unusual, he dreamt. He dreamt about killing a man, tearing his chest open, and finding him filled with an overflowing pool of glowing blue Zydrate that spilled out over his hands, and he dreamt that the Graverobber was watching, his dark lips stretched in that same smile as he waited for the Repo Man to finish with the carcass.

And in the dream, he stood, and discovered that he was standing only in darkness, there was nothing around them but darkness, and the body was gone, leaving only a spreading pool of zydrate, and he found himself stepping away from it as it reached for his boots -

- something prodded him hard.

"Nhmgh?" Nathan burbled, and his head snapped up from the couch, and he found himself looking at a worried Shilo - he hated seeing that expression on her face. He was supposed to be the one who worried about things, not her, "I'm fine precious."

"Are you going out again tonight?" she asked.

"Yes, I have to see two patients - I'm sorry Shi. It's been a busy month."

"It's okay dad, your patients need you too." Shilo said, patting him comfortingly on the shoulder before moving past him, and Nathan watched her and felt his heart break a little.

 

[Kawamura]

He had to wiggle the door and press his whole weight against it to get the thing to budge. Creepiest thing to open it and find a pair of metallic eyes staring at him, and this was coming from a man whose resume included robbing graves and stalking Repo Men. So Old Ray was up. The young man actually looked behind him, searching for whoever had come in after him. The formally-blind bastard only stayed up for taking rent or bodies, and by the look of it, heâ??d been waiting for the latter if his surprised look was any hint. â??I wasnâ??t suspecting to see you up,â? Graverobber said, pulling off his gloves as he walked past.

â??I could say the same for you, boy.â? Ray chortled and stood with an â??oomphâ??. â??Got a few more targets. Might have a job for you if you want the pay.â? Graverobber paused in the door that lead to the stairs, glancing back. â??Or a reduction in your rent.â? The ass was actually smiling as Graverobber gestured for him to go on. Ray was the same sort of man as Rotti, not the Rotti on the official papers, but the Rotti that graced the gossip columns and tabloids. Man knew how to keep people working for him. Rarely, though, did any of his contracts turn out to be down-right Faustian. Apparently, morals landed you in a dingy, run down apartment complex doing back alley surgeries for sick whores and scalpel sluts, while their lack got you a company like GeneCo.

And kids like that. Graverobberâ??s mind flashed to the Largo daughter who had come by, high as a kite and stitches barely holding earlier in the night, demanding more Zydrate. Maybe Old Ray had the better idea.

â??Iâ??ll try and find you one of those old organ carrying units.â? Ray had come over to hand over his repossession files. The younger man took them, foot still in the doorway to the staircase to keep the door propped open. Unlike the usual fine print GeneCo was so fond of, these were in large, block print just like last nightâ??s. How many of his vials went to paying some addict in the company for these? Ray was sneaky. â??A few nights, Iâ??ll send you out and you can pick up a few parts for me. Give your Repo Man a bit of competition.â?

â??Yeah, and then he leaves me on the sidewalk with his mark. Uh uh.â? Ray grinned toothily as Graverobber turned around, coat swinging out behind him. He could still feel those artificial eyes staring at him through the wood, though GeneCo hadnâ??t added an X-ray version.

The next night he was early again. Perhaps it was because these were people he knew. Maybe not this one, a scrawny little addict with bird-like movements that spoke of very little food, but he knew their type. Could see the scars cross his chest from underneath his stringy top. Damned guy probably had the works, probably was more GeneCo than human now. He kept scratching at them with long, damaged fingers that plucked along like he was playing a guitar not checking his stitches.

Graverobber was almost glad to see him put out of his misery.

Repo Manâ??s target's lips twitched up into a smile as he spotted the dealer. His friends were there, too, about four young people that Graverobberâ??s mind interpreted as a single, colorful whole. Rarely did any one of them think for themselves, rarely did any of them show some spark that made him catch interest.

He was better off in the graveyards. Those people didnâ??t disappoint you: they were dead. The dead never lived up to expectations, so there was no point in even having them.

A crunch, like a foot had taken the wrong path on an otherwise silent walk. The thief glanced up from his little crowd that pressed up against him, lined eyes staring down the alley. He couldnâ??t make anything out, but that was the problem with standing right beneath a light. Anything outside, in the partial darkness, was hidden, and they, they were on stage. One girl had taken to touching his multi-streaked hair, her nose against his ear, high up in the stratosphere. The boy, the mark, was whining, pressing his hands under Graverobberâ??s shirt to the scarred, hairy chest underneath. He didnâ??t have the money, heâ??d have it later, he just needed one hit, heâ??d do anything.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

The night air was hot again, and he could feel the vinyl of the uniform sticking to his skin, and with the exhaustion wracking his brain, he found himself consciously aware of the weight of the knives he kept under his coat, up his sleeves, and in his boot. He felt weighed down by them, but they were needed equipment - but at least it was only two marks that night, though the first one appeared to be - extensive.

Julian Treacher.

GeneCo parts for Reposession: lungs, stomach, liver, spleen. Everything but the kitchen sink - this guy was so far behind on his payments that it would take most people their entire lifetime to pay it off, plus interest due to the rising prices of inflation. Treacher was hopelessly in debt, as evidenced by the file that Nathan had been given.

He stalked the area that Treacher was known to hang around; like any other Zydrate addict, they tended to pick an area and stick to it, so it only took a few streets before he located him - and he felt his blood pressure rise significantly when he did find him. Treacher was there, yes, a skinny, simpering thing with a map of sutures on his chest and stomach, scantily clad and -

- hanging off of the Graverobber. He faltered in his step just beyond the alleyway, the gravel crunching beneath his boots, and he watched the Graverobber's eyes move to where he was standing; he was in darkness, so he was sure he couldn't be seen, but the vulture was lit up like the central character in a stage show, surrounded by hookers and drug addicts who were clinging to every part of him.

He would have to wait to get to Treacher; there was no rule that said he couldn't take the organs in front of others, but there was more of a risk that someone would interfere when there was a group nearby, and he was already too sore from his fight the previous night. Besides, Nathan didn't want to kill anyone that he wasn't contracted to kill - Repo was another story, though.

So he hung back; he climbed the outside staircase that clung to the side of the apartment complex he was behind, and he waited from a high perch like a bird of prey, backlit by moonlight and watching for the moment he could get Treacher alone.

 

[Kawamura]

Graverobber didnâ??t do well with charity cases. The boy was whimpering, whining, pleading, but he pushed him off. This was his own damned fault. So the kid hadnâ??t read the fine print; very few of them ever did. At least the girl yesterday, she had been trying (or Graverobber liked to think so). This one had hopped from operating table to operating table, racking up a debt that even Amber might raise an eyebrow at.

There were tears, now, there always were, then yelling. The kid was angry, shrieking and kicking the ground. He might have hit Graverobber, but the look from the others hanging off him gave him pause. Boring. Absolutely boring. Heâ??d seen this very scene five hundred times before.

The only thing that redeemed it was the killer waiting in the dark.

It wasnâ??t that Graverobber wanted to watch a man die. He liked to think of himself as a somewhat decent fellow, if one ignored the whole drug-dealing, grave-robbing, sleeping around bit. He didn't kill people, he dealt with them when they were dead. Or when they were alive and begging Zydrate from him, though, if he thought along that train of thought, he was probably hastening a few of them to their deaths. Not that it really mattered, he thought, running his hands through the short, curly hair of the man that had replaced the Repo Manâ??s mark. Everyone was on the same path to about six feet below. Some of them just went a little quicker.

They all left corpses, though.

The whore jerked away from the herd, clutching himself and shivering even though the night was warm. No Z meant he was afraid and in honest pain, probably something he hadnâ??t felt since he had started his scalpel marathon. Graverobber looked up, pushing the new kidâ??s hands from his belt. Unlike their former friend, they were doped up on their cure, all save for one, but he changed that quickly once she had paid. Repoâ??s bird of a mark turned his head back sharply to the group, glaring nastily, and Graverobber gave him a little wave.

They never were polite enough to wave back. This one gave him the finger, his other arm still pressed to his chest, and it annoyed him that the dealer paid him little attention. No. His rimmed eyes were up, watching as if he could see what was going on off stage. Another shove to the kid beneath him and he shrugged off the ones hanging on him, fingers running through his hair and the fake, natty fir of his coat.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Patience paid off; he had only been watching for a few minutes before Treacher seemed to lose his temper with the Graverobber as something apparently sent him flying off the handle - by the looks of it, he had been denied his fix for the night. He couldn't pay.

And for an instant, Nathan found himself struck by the suspicion that the Graverobber was somehow trying to send Treacher away from the flock, trying to separate him, almost as if he was trying to make it easier, make it quicker for the Repo Man to do his intended job. Of course, there was benefit for the scavenger in it - when there were bodies, there was Zydrate, and he suspected the Graverobber wasn't the sort with the stomach to do it himself. He watched the Graverobber for another long moment, shifting his jaw, and then he moved across the rooftop, his footsteps scarcely making a sound, and he dropped down like some phantom in the shadows, landing directly on top of Treacher.

The man let out an ear-piercing shriek that told Repo the new lungs were working very well; but he just wasn't in the mood to put up with the noise, his head was already aching from the previous night, and he was feeling a little sour, so he clapped his hand over Treacher's mouth and wrenched hard, forcing the man's mouth shut, clamping the man's teeth over his own tongue in the process. Blood spurted up between Repo's fingers, and muffled noises of pain and terror continued to escape Treacher, up until the point he brought out the knife, and the man's eyes went wide and he fell silent.

And that was precisely when Repo realized there was a hand on his knee, and it was sliding up his thigh, the goal obvious as though Treacher thought it might give him a chance. Repo froze only for an instant, confused until he felt fingers - where they shouldn't be.

Reflexively, he brought the knife down and ended up putting it directly through Treacher's eye, and the man died almost instantly with only a few short moments of spasming, leaving the Repo Man sitting on top of him, completely motionless for a moment, stunned by his own reaction - and then he withdrew the knife and got to work.

The ribs were easier to pry open then Mendez's had been; Treacher was a good deal smaller, so they cracked with spectacular ease in comparison, and he began the messy work of clipping out the lungs, the spleen, the stomach, and the liver. The parts were so new that some of the dissolving stitches were still there.

 

[Kawamura]

The screech sent Graverobberâ??s informal little pre-orgy running. They were whores, the lot of them, but they werenâ??t stupid whores. It was easy to figure out what was happening: the kid couldnâ??t pay for Zydrate or surgery, and now the Repo Man was after him. No matter what the official stance on the Repo Men was, every hooker, dealer, and simple peasant of the city knew that King Rottiâ??s elite guard was real and stalking down a street nearly every night. The addicts scattered like so many startled pigeons, flying off to where theyâ??d be out of the way.

Graverobber strolled offstage and into the darkness. Ray was right: it was his Repo Man again, hunched over his kill as he began snipping away various designer organs. He was either very brave tonight or very stupid as he came around the killer from behind. As his eyes adjusted he could make out hair that was nearly silver in the dim light sticking out from under the helmet where his neck was exposed from bending his head forward. The thief looked over his shoulder, close enough that his hair trailed down the manâ??s neck and whistled. â??I didnâ??t know he had replaced it all,â? he said conversationally, than made his biggest mistake that evening.

He easily draped a hand on the manâ??s shoulder, just the slightest force there to keep balance for a second. Graverobber was already thinking about extracting the Zydrate, the fact that he might pull out two vials from this kid. He was surprised the body didnâ??t ooze the glowing blue liquid instead.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

He was up to his elbows in the messy work, distracted as he clipped out each organ with expertise, bagging each one as he finished with it; it was a lot to take from a single target, but there was no questioning the order - Treacher had replaced a majority of his organs, the worst kind of surgery addict, particularly because he couldn't even scrape up enough to make the monthly payments and just kept getting replacements. Judging by the way his kidneys looked, they were replacements as well, but not GeneCo - likely some back alley surgery he'd had done when he realized GeneCo wouldn't let him take out a loan on any more parts.

He rubbed his hands against his legs to remove some of the gore that was collecting on his fingers, and he realized there was a residual touch still lingering on his thigh from where Treacher had touched him. He tried to shake it off; tried to concentrate on his work - but then a shadow loomed nearby, and the lights were dim, but it was enough to make out a vague silhouette, the long hair telling him who it was.

Graverobber.

Like a predator interrupted in the middle of a feed, the Repo Man froze, his back hunching; his body language made him look as though he might even snarl. But then he felt something; Graverobber's hair tickling the nape of his neck, and it was enough to send a small shudder through him, his hands clenching as he heard the man's voice just a little too close.

And then a hand on his shoulder.

Before he even knew he was doing it, the Repo Man was on his feet and had whirled around, rounding on the Graverobber, one hand securing around the vulture's throat and backing him into a wall. Nathan wasn't as big as the myths claimed, but his strength betrayed his appearance, a bizarre power coming from him, and his voice came out as a low, rasping growl,

"You're stalking me." he hissed.

 

[Kawamura]

Heâ??d pushed the Repo Man too far.

This was a strangely familiar position for him, what with the Largo daughterâ??s habit of violence. But Amber was never so strong. Her nails, whatever length she had chosen that week, might bite into his neck and leave marks, but she never had this raw force behind her well sculpted hands.

Graverobber â??oofedâ?? as he was pushed up against the wall, head connecting with the brick behind him. Not enough to black out, but he saw busts of light and that frightening mask. Thank God for the darkness: low-lighting meant he could see through them to the eyes underneath.

Not that it really improved things. Those eyes were hard, lines furrowing the narrow strip of brow and nose that he could see. â??I am,â? he choked back, raising his hands up along the old cement wall, the rough stone scrapping uncovered skin. Look, his body language said, or he hoped it said, Iâ??m not touching you any more. Iâ??m not a threat. â??Saves me a step in having to go dig up the bodies.â? Graverobber rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, trying to find some comfortable way of holding himself. The vinyl gloves covered in blood and other fluids barely slipped as he moved, the monster was pressing so hard. And there was blood enough on his hands, though the thief was unsure how the kid had kept so much of the liquid in his scrawny frame. â??I wasnâ??t aware Repo Men were so anti-social,â? he said, throat working around the words.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

The eyes behind the mask stared hard at the Graverobber, unblinking and angry and lined with exhaustion; he was tired and raging, and right then, the Repo Man in him just wanted to squeeze until the scavenger turned blue - but no, he didn't have time for this, he needed to finish the job. The Graverobber was an annoyance, but he wasn't on the list; he didn't need to die that night.

Shame.

If the mask hadn't been there, Graverobber would have seen gritted teeth, he would have seen a moment of barely shielded fury on Nathan's face, and he gave another hard squeeze, ramming the other man back against the wall once more before releasing him, letting him breathe again. Immediately, he turned away from Graverobber and back to his task, wrenching out the stomach and jamming it into a bag, his temper barely maintained at that point, and with Graverobber behind him, he continued his work, sawing away. This lasted for a few moments, and when he finally turned again, he was dripping blood, and holding Treacher's head like it belonged to a Gorgon; with it secured in his hand by the hair, he looked directly at Graverobber, and spoke in the same rasping voice,

"Go get it."

And in hitherto unheard of display of humour, he hurled Treacher's head with incredible accuracy up onto a nearby roof, and began to walk away, heading for his next target.

 

[Kawamura]

Graverobber sucked in a greedy breath when the Repo Man turned away. For a moment, just a moment, he had thought it was over, that some other dealer would be around to collect his own Zydrate. Made his nose burn just thinking about it.

But Repo hadnâ??t killed him. The vulture took another deep breath, preening himself, trying to get at least some of the blood out of the fur of the collar. The sticky liquid was already cloying up on his hands and even in his hair, leaving the ends dark and whole like some sort of grisly brush. But he was alive. Repo hadnâ??t killed him.

â??Go get it.â? Graverobber looked up, eyebrows arched on his expressive face. What was he doing with theâ?¦? The head sailed over his own before he really even realized it was a head, not that the blood and hair and the remainder of one eye wasnâ??t a dead give away. The scavenger stared at it, not moving until the Repo Man had left fully.

Fuck that. He had other work to do than chase down a single head. (The woman who found the thing in her flower box the next morning, staring at her from the blooms like some one-eyed pirate lawn ornament, would have probably appreciated him chasing it down. But thatâ??s neither here nor there.) There were graves with bodies in them that wouldn't be on the roofs. He stepped over the husk that was once home to all the latest fads in surgery, whistling to himself.

The Repo Man hadnâ??t killed him.

That thought buoyed him up as he worked, breaking into above ground tombs. People rarely got buried these days, the ground already being thick with coffins. Oh, sure, a few rich folks might get six feet under, but most ended up in a concrete box above ground. Or, worse, in the mass graves that were rumoured to exist, where GeneCo dropped off all their corpses. Heâ??d yet to find them; once he had, he imagined it would make the job easier for awhile, till they stepped up patrols.

Where he was working this evening was a somewhat peaceful area. There were a few large mausoleums across the way, and while there was a cop here and there, it was nothing like the numbers he had seen at more well-to-do corners.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

The last job that evening was one that would stay with Nathan Wallace for the rest of his life, despite his best efforts to forget it. Like many other repo assignments, he had to go to the woman's home - in this case, it was an apartment complex on the third floor, and he climbed the staircase so he could enter in through the balcony door, slipping in noiselessly.

Lilly Barber.

GeneCo property for Repossession: heart.

He found her in her living room; she was a woman in her forties, possessed of thick, curly red hair and large green eyes, and judging by how stiff she was, she had been dead for several hours. On the table beside her was a Zydrate needle with an empty vial, and there was a large kitchen knife sticking out of her chest; it didn't take much investigation to realize that the zydrate had been used for her to build up the courage to do it.

The GeneCo heart was ruined; the message of defiance left Nathan staggered for a moment and made the Repo Man let out a short, harsh-sounding bark of laughter - because what else could he do? Somehow, she had known he was coming, and had taken her own life rather than being carved up. Occasionally, there were write-offs when an organ was too damaged to be of any value to GeneCo, but this was the first time that Nathan had encountered a target who had purposely made the organ worthless.

He made his way back through the cemetary, carrying what was left of Treacher in one hand, and Barber's ruined heart in the other. He moved swiftly, swerving around gravestones with practised ease, having memorized the trail many years before, and he made his way towards Marni's mausoleum -

- only to discover someone was lingering nearby.

This time the Repo Man really did snarl, because Graverobber was in his sight again, and the very fact he was so close to Marni's tomb was enough to send his blood pressure through the roof, and he moved towards Graverobber with heavy footsteps, his fists clenched, shoulders hunched.