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Grave Matters: A Repo! Roleplay (SevenxKawamura)

This was more like it. Graverobber hummed to himself, crouching down the body he had just pulled out. It was ill preserved, but there was no sign of pain in that rotting face. Most undertakers tended to prepare the body like that, though, had all sorts of tricks to make even the most horrified look smooth out into one like sleep. Then again, most of the people that ended up buried werenâ??t the sort that died horrific deaths like the one he saw earlier this evening.

He knew the patrols with their simple, strict rounds. No one would come this way for about a good quarter houâ?? Graverobber rocked back onto the balls of his feet, listening. There were footsteps, loud, heavy ones. That wasnâ??t the sound of a GeneCo employee on patrol. Neither was that snarl. He was only half up, his kit still scattered on the ground, when the fist connected with his face with all the force of a battering ram. Good God, was that hand metal underneath it all? He was down again quickly, the pre-set vials scattering away as his hand scrambled to find purchase on the dusty ground.

Not just a handhold. Some sort of weapon. A rock. Wait.

â??The fuck?â? he snarled, covering his face with his arm, the one that still had the half-full Zydrate vial in it. His nose was bleeding, as was his top lip from where it had snagged on his teeth. He could feel the warmth, especially in his nose as blood leaked back down his nasal cavities, his mouth tasting like someone had dumped a load of coins in it.

Oh, God. He hadnâ??t meant to find him now, not when heâ??d angered him just an hour or so before, if that. The man wouldnâ??t believe him. â??What, are you from here, too?â? he cried out stuffily.
 
It would become very clear that the Graverobber had made some poor choices in the last few days; his decision to follow the Repo Man, to stalk his job was a bad one, but even worse had been when he'd gotten too close, and when he'd touched him.

But worst of all was when he had admitted to him that he was stalking him, because now, as Graverobber truly ran into Nathan by chance, he had no way of verbally defending himself or making the other man believe it was all some horrible, horrible misunderstanding. No, finding Graverobber again, directly outside of Marni's tomb was what had sent him flying off the handle, particularly with the implication that the other man had either been intending on defacing her mausoleum, or that he somehow knew more about Nathan than anyone should have.

So he found himself entirely unapologetic in the face of the Graverobber's indignity; Nathan was satisfied by the sight of blood streaming from the other man's nose, but the Repo Man wanted to see more. He advanced on the scavenger again while he was on the ground, leaping on top of the other man like an incensed predator, straddling Graverobber's stomach, his hands gripping the lapels of the man's jacket, yanking his upper body towards him,

"You're becoming a problem," he hissed.
 
â??Iâ??m the problem?â? Repo was surprisingly heavy on his stomach for such a small guy. Must be the uniform or the fact that he was a mass-murderer. Both tended to weigh heavily on a manâ??s chest, even if most of his weight was on his knees. â??You followed me this time.â?

Damn. That could have been a lot better without the sharp knives.

He let his head loll as he watched his attacker, examining right where his body was. Heâ??d have one shot, and that was if he was lucky. Time to turn on the charm. Or what heâ??d like to think was charm, though in more normal situations (not pressed to the ground of a graveyard with a Repo Man over him) would have probably made people very, very uncomfortable. Graverobber arched an eyebrow, one corner of his painted mouth twitching up. â??I really donâ??t need another admirer, but I could make an exception for you,â? he said silkily, adjusting the syringe in his gloved hands. â??Something about a man in uniform.â?

The two men were exposed, right there in front of one of the large mausoleums. In a few minutes, it probably wouldnâ??t matter what the Repo Man did to him. His tools were strewn across the blue-tinted pathway. â??Maybe I can make you a deal.â? Silver hair meant the person above him was probably getting on in years, and this was a painfully physical job. He must feel it in every joint and muscle. â??Iâ??ve got good stuff. Probably make your nights easier. Fantastic high, too.â? If he could talk his way out of thisâ?¦ Stabbing a Repo Man was a ticket to having his body be left out in several pieces for the trashmen to find, and Graverobber had gotten quite used to being whole.
 
This was unusual for Repo; he was used to people shuddering and wetting themselves with fear at the mere sight of him - he was used to struggles, and screams, and kicking and cries for help, but what he wasn't used to was this - faustian personality. Even now, the Graverobber was talking, he was boldly trying to worm his way out of the situation, using the only tactic he had - his merchandise, the drugs he sold.

As a surgeon, Nathan was familiar with Zydrate and its properties - he had seen enough people on it to know all of it's effects, but being that he was one of the lucky ones, he had never needed to use it, he had never had an organ failure that required it to come into play. So, instead of being tempted by the Graverobber's offer like many in the city would have been, he found himself instead annoyed by it, irritated by the other's attempts to buy him out of his rage, and he made a point of refusing by securing a hand around Graverobber's throat.

It was clear that the man's attempts were not appreciated, and right then it didn't seem to matter that Nathan was smaller than the Graverobber, because he made up for the difference in sheer experience, his strength seeming almost superhuman for the thin frame it was derived from. Right then, he just wanted to choke all of that smarminess right out of the scavenger, but he also couldn't help the feeling that he would get it all over his uniform if he squeezed too hard.

The father in Nathan wanted to scold Graverobber for his behaviour and send him on his way, the Repo Man just wanted to make him suffer for a while to make his point, and the point was very clearly:

Stop following me.
 
Dealing with the dead for too long did something to a person. Everyone was dead to him, including himself, it was just a matter of stages. He let his eyes flutter closed as he tried to take another breath around the tightening hand at his throat. God. The man would squeeze and squeeze till his eyes popped out, and that wasnâ??t the death he had ever envisioned for himself. He had imagined somethingâ?¦ quicker.

Of course he had to find the only non-addict in the city. â??You donâ??t want Zydrate, Iâ??ll pay in something other than Zydrate,â? he croaked out, the words strangely familiar. He had heard the same deal at least once a weak, if not more. Most of them, though, werenâ??t battering for their lives. Now he was starting to feel fear, but it wasnâ??t the bowel-loosening, quivering sort. It was something separate for him, like he was afraid for a character on the screen, not himself.

So maybe he was a little more off his nut than he thought.

Graverobber swallowed, working this throat as if thatâ??d somehow get him out of that grip. â??Now would not be the time to ask if you work out,â? he added, knowing earlier confidence had stalled the Repo Man, hopefully itâ??d do it again.

Or make him bash his head into the cobblestone pathway he was holding him up above.
 
He was progressively choking the breath out of the Graverobber to make his point painfully clear to the scavenger, but he discovered midway through that it wasn't actually doing any good when the other man offered to pay in ways besides Zydrate. As though he had read Graverobber's mind, he suddenly removed his hand from the man's throat, grabbed hold of his thick, knotted hair, and slammed his head down once into the cobblestones, barely resisting the urge to slap some sense into the other man.

The quippiness was starting to grate his nerves, and he nearly threw his hands up in frustration before he resumed choking Graverobber, his hand clenching the man's throat like a vice grip. All of the irritations of the week were suddenly seeping in; all of the exhaustion and pain, all the killing and chasing, and the irritation of Rotti and the leverage he had over him, and Amber Sweet touching him, Luigi lingering like some horrible little rodent, and Shilo being at home alone for too many hours.

"You will not follow me again." he ground out; it wasn't a request, or a question judging by the growl in his voice - it was an order, "Say it."
 
God, more lights. Graverobber cringed, preparing himself for the second slam into the pavement. So this was it, eh? Heâ??d end up with his brains and skull in a paste in some cemetery. Crap way to die.

It never came. Instead was that horrible choking with hands as strong as steel. This was what the stories were made out of. Repo Man might not be tall enough to play professional basketball, nor was he built like a brick wall of muscle, but he was strong enough to squeeze every bit of air from his purchased lungs. He remembered fuzzily attacks heâ??d had as a child, where, no matter how wide he opened his mouth, air simply refused to fill his lungs.

â??I wonâ??t follow you.â? He got that lie out on his last breath, dark eyes open now to watch his killer. He had dropped the Zydrate to claw at the manâ??s hands, trying to get him off, to loosen the fingers around his neck so he could gulp down another lungful of air. Now the primal panic was setting in, the fight or flight response that had been delayed. Graverobber scratched with stubby, dirty nails, trying to get at skin beneath vinyl or get that mask off so he could get at the eyes.
 
There it was.

Finally, there it was.

It had taken getting to the last few ounces of air, squeezing hard enough to bruise, holding on and drawing it out, but finally, he saw the familiar look in Graverobber's eyes, the one he had been searching for - it wasn't fear, but it was the survival instinct, the one that every human being ultimately had lurking deep inside of them. It didn't matter how cocky or tough they were, when it came down to their lives, humans were supposed to fight for it, and invoking the response in the scavenger beneath him was somehow reassuring for reasons he didn't want to explore.

He felt Graverobber's fingers scrabbling up his sleeves for purchase, felt the man's hands trying to wrench off the mask, but he had done this so many times that all he needed to do was lean forward a little on his knees to put an uncomfortable pressure on the thief's chest, practically forcing out the last bit of air.

And with the choked words, he held onto the man's throat only for a second longer, and then finally released him and rose from him all at once, wordlessly dissappearing into the darkness of the cemetary and leaving Graverobber on the ground to sort himself out.

He listened to Shilo recount her television show that night, and fell asleep on a chair in her room.
 
Bruises were the last of his concern. He was drowning. He was drowning in this damned, humid heat, on this fucking ground below some boogieman that got a stiffy from murdering.

Deaths like this didnâ??t happen to him. They happened to others, to fools that got themselves too deep in Rottiâ??s lion pit, that sold away their soul to GeneCo for a pretty inside and a life of chasing the damned blue glow of Zydrate.

Apparently, it also happened to graverobbers that got their noses in things that werenâ??t their business. And the bastard wasnâ??t even going to let him live after that forced admission. Maybe he knew he was lying through his teeth. God, what had he done? Heâ??d touched him, and this was the response?

It was right then, where darkness started burning into his vision, that the monster let him go. The vulture turned on his side, taking in deep, shaking breaths, touching his own throat in disbelief as the Repo Man stalked away, his vinyl scrubs swinging with his gait. Now he looked taller from this angle, more threatening, and Graverobber felt strangelyâ?¦

Alive.

He closed his eyes, groping along the ground for his pack. He needed to drag himself out of the way. Into a crypt so he could collect himself, wait for the patrols to pass (he could already see the beams of light that signified a scoped gun), then get home.
 
The Repo Man had moved through the graveyard, and the beams of light from the armed Guards reflected off of the vinyl, but he didn't hasten his movements - no, the guards passed the light right over him, knowing what he was and knowing better than to question his presence in the cemetary. He was a ghoul there, one of the few who would be allowed to be in any part of the city at any time, regardless of circumstances; he had the unquestionable authority of Rotti Largo behind him, and the GeneCo insignia on his uniform was enough to send the most saged guard into the sweats.

The guards did their sweep of the cemetary, just the way they did every other night, every hour on the hour - but they did it quickly, some of them spooked by their sparing glimpse of the Repo Man, unsure of where he had dissappeared to. Luckily for Graverobber, their search wasn't terribly thorough, and he was bypassed as he tried to find his breath again inside the mausoleum.

And the next day, Nathan woke up sore again, his body protesting the abuse he had put it through over the last few nights, urging him to just go back to sleep. A glance up told him Shilo was still asleep, and the orange light through the window told him it was incredibly early. He rubbed at his aching eyes with his palms, and he made his way to the bathroom; he saw his own reflection in the mirror and balked at the sight of it - at the very least, he needed to shave.

He ended up taking a shower so hot that it nearly burnt his skin, and he stepped out of it feeling a little more human; he took the time to shave and make himself presentable again, combing his hair so it no longer stuck out ridiculously, and putting on his glasses. He observed himself in the mirror for another long moment; he had lost weight he hadn't needed to lose, there were dark rings under his eyes - he looked terrible.

When Shilo woke up, she expressed a bizarre amount of joy for the fresh pineapple he had cut up for her breakfast, and they sat at the front window and watched the sun rise high over the gates, and he tried not to think about how only hours before, he had nearly choked a man to death.
 
Heâ??d never understood druggies or scalpel sluts. The idea simply didnâ??t make sense to him. Sure, he attracted them like the pied piper of whores and burn outs, and he certainly spent enough time with them, but the idea of having such an obsession with anything barely registered with him.

Most things were boring.

Repo Man was not boring.

There was something about a grey-haired Repo Man that just didnâ??t sit right with him. Grey-haired, and he should be settled down with a family or a stable job. Graverobber snorted as he went through that dayâ??s gossip rags. Boring stuff, most of it, the same stories repeated a hundred times: jealous lovers, out of control rich kids, murders and robberies. He scared an older whore, out of her mind on Zydrate if the wide eyes and lax mouth told him anything, when he chuckled. Graverobber always loved the ads. They promised beauty, perfection, everything one could ever want.

Designer organs looked the same as any other when they were ripped out of a still seizing body by a grey-haired Repo Man, with hard eyes highlighted with bags and hands with a grip a man twice his size shouldnâ??t have had.

The weather didnâ??t let up at all that week, temperature and humidity even rising as the days wore on. Graverobber was careful to stay away from the marks, but he did haunt the area around where Repo would be, trying forâ?¦ he wasnâ??t quite sure what he was trying for. The man had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with the dealer, he still had the yellowing bruises to prove it, but that didnâ??t change the fact that he was intrigued.

Couldnâ??t sit the man down for a talk, though. That obviously hadnâ??t worked. What had him wound so tightly that a pat on the shoulder had set him off like that? Graverobber propped himself up on the fire escape of an old, long abandoned building, whistling as he leafed through a few magazines, a foot dangling as he mixed various jingles. They all sort of ran together in his mind, anyways, with that constant droning up above. He lacked his coat today, feeling it was too damned hot to work.
 
Repo Men didn't get days off; they were on call 24/7, though Nathan was sure he was the only one who did the job unwillingly - the majority of Repo Men had applied for the job, the sociopaths and psychotics of the city who found immense joy in their work, the ones who would be out killing people if they didn't have the job anyways. GeneCo just provided them with a legal backdrop for their sick activities, official papers to support their killings, leaving them unaccountable for anything extra they did in the process.

But Nathan didn't do the job because he liked it; he maintained that, even to himself. No, he didn't like it; Repo might, the night surgeon side of him may have found some twisted joy in it all, but he most certainly did not. As Nathan Wallace, he was a loving and dedicated father, and a perpetually mourning husband - he was a reliable, caring doctor and a decent, law-abiding citizen.

But at night, things changed because they had to, he had no choice but to do GeneCo's bidding.

He just wished the uniforms weren't so damn hot.

He was aware of the density of the fabric again, but this time he could feel his own sweat on his forehead as he dug his hands into George Elder's abdomen and wrenched out the intenstine in a messy, bloody rope, tossing it aside to access the stomach. The smell of the city combined with the smell of death was almost too much, and he had to resist the urge to throw his mask off, or to peel off the uniform to try and get away from some of the wretched heat.

The upside had been that the streets seemed to move slower from the heat, fewer people dotted the streets when it was so stiflingly hot, and it made his job just that much easier, even if the temperature made it difficult to stand.
 
Oh, shit.

This time, it was completely not his fault. He hadnâ??t taken a good look at Old Rayâ??s print outs, even when the man offered (had smiled, too, and patted his hand saying he was all the more clever for stepping away from Repo watching), and he was here, relaxing on the metal about a story above the ground, just to suffer out the heat.

His Repo Man, though, was following him now! Graverobber dropped the magazine behind him to watch, leaning back lazily. Repoâ??s victim was a middle-aged man today, well-off if his clothes said anything about his profession. He must have been trying to find a loop hole to get out of paying, risking his own life to save a few bucks. He was dark-haired and a little on the heavy side, and he screamed and kicked and begged as Repo began cutting into him. He even offered money, though Graverobber knew from personal experience how well that would go.

It was messy work and Graverobber didnâ??t envy him. He was watching not for entertainment, but in a sort of appreciative way. It was gruesome, it was ugly, but his Repo Man had art. Probably would be a fantastic surgeon if he didnâ??t kill his patients. The dealer lazed on the impromptu balcony, scratching his scars in sympathy.

Now he really did feel like a vulture, propped up like that as he waited for the predator to finish his kill. The heat must have fried his brain, because he called out lowly, â??They make you work in that outfit in this heat? Rotti is a sadistic bastard.â?
 
George Elder was a bigger man, overweight from an easy and overindulgent life that very few in the city ever got to experience; his penchant for food and especially for drink had been progressively destroying parts of his body, and the first thing to go had, ironically, been the man's stomach. His old part had been covered in ulcers from overdrinking, so the new stomach had been a neccessity before the gaping holes hemhorraged and killed him - sadly, the surgery hadn't stopped Merchant's drinking habits, and now his esophagus was going. He had even scheduled himself for another surgery in short order, but given that he hadn't gotten around to paying off his first one, it was looking a little unlikely.

So when Elder screamed his terror, his voice came out as a rasping croak that didn't actually get very loud, his voice too raw from his alcoholism to really have any power behind it. It quickly became clear to him that his terror was in no way discouraging the Repo Man, so he turned to bargaining as his shirt was cut open, trying to offer anything he could - money, stocks, power.

"What do you want?" Elder had shouted, desperate - but there was no answer for him; it took longer to get to the organs because of the thickness of the man's flesh, so the process was a little more drawn out than most. The upside to the overweight was that they were usually easy to catch, but getting to the required parts could be a task.

So he had been tugging out the intestine, digging through the build up of fat that had surrounded the man's internal organs, and he'd had his hand stuck inside the gaping hole he'd carved out, when he heard it, a voice overhead like the devil on his shoulder. For a moment, the Repo Man froze, and then his shoulders slumped, and he brought one bloody fist up to the mask, pressing it against where the nose would be in a clear gesture of frustration.

He wrenched his hand out of Elder with an unfortunate wet, squishing sound, and he stood, turning and looking directly up at the Graverobber, who was lingering on a rattling old staircase. The knife still in one hand, Repo held his arms out at his sides in a stance that very clearly stated: 'what the hell?'

He dropped his hands back to his sides, slapping the flat of the knife against his thigh, and right then it was obvious that if he had the luxury of a gun, he would have probably shot Graverobber.

Likely in the knees.

"There are others," he said, and his voice was like that of a parent trying to reason with a particularly stubborn child, a bizarre combination with the rasping tone, "There are others, follow one of them around."
 
Graverobber pulled his leg up, managing even that with something of a flourish. Best to keep his parts away. Knives didnâ??t have much range, but he could lose a dangling foot.

â??You found me,â? he said simply, pursing his lips in aborted amusement. Laughing now wouldnâ??t be a good idea. Blood from the chubby manâ??s body glittered on his mask, catching the light and making the vinyl look wet.

Well. More wet than it was.

He curled his lips, unable to resist. â??You could always take the mask off. I canâ??t really see you in detail, you know,â? he offered, still lounging back. Tonight there was a coiled energy in his frame, like the heat had kept him bored and he was restless. â??You could always just throw up the wallet. Weatherâ??s making me lazy, and I donâ??t look forward to turning him over.â? Graverobber watched him warily, still unafraid, though. Fingers curled around the brittle iron so he could drag himself up into an upright position. â??Are all the other Repo Men grey-haired?â? he asked, wiping rust on his pants as he spoke. "No retirement age?"
 
Repo found himself tugging on the strap of leather that pressed against his chin, suddenly irritated by it's presence, and he unbuckled it so it hung down and out of the way, and he could feel some of the air on his neck - but there was no relief in it, because the air was just as hot and sticky. He cocked his head to the side, staring up at Graverobber, suddenly wishing he could get his hands on the man's throat again, particularly when he got that smug look tugging at his painted lips again.

He resisted the urge to do something childish like hurl the wallet at the other man's head, and mildly irritated by the fact he had noticed his hair colour; he remembered then that his mask didn't completely cover him, that the nape of his neck must have been showing when he was leaning over one of the bodies in the previous nights - it made him question which of the patients he had been working on when Graverobber had noticed.

And how close Graverobber had been standing when he'd seen it.

"We don't exactly get a benefits plan." he replied flatly, kneeling back down to the body and continuing his work, pushing his hand back inside of Elder's open trunk cavity; his hand came back out with the stomach, and he maneuvered it until he could access the medical connection, snipping the stomach away. Almost immediately, it began to leak out fluids and bile, and he let it for a few moments - storing the stomach with too much acid still in it tended to make it more difficult to store properly.

When he was done, he wrapped the organ, and then dug into Elder's jacket, yanking out the wallet that Graverobber was so interested in and jamming it deep inside of the dead man's body, somewhere near the ribcage. He rose then, brushed his hands off onto his legs, and gestured theatrically to the corpse as though to say 'there you go' before he turned and moved off to the side of the alleyway, stepping out of the streetlight and into the shadow, leaning himself up against the wall.
 
Oh, the bastard. Graverobber watched, that same, amused smirk tugging on his stained lips, as the Repo Man took the wallet, let him have a good enough look from this angle to see that it was indeed the wallet, and shoved the designer accessory up somewhere behind what Graverobber was guessing was his lungs. The scavenger was gracious enough to give a little bow as his opposite rose.

He felt a tingle go down his spine as he pushed himself forward, forgoing the ladder to hop down into a crouching position, face turned towards the shadows as he hesitated, just for a second. A few nights back, Repo Man had nearly killed him, had pushed his knee into the area right beneath his ribs and squeezed all the air out of him like a blow-up doll. He could do it again tonight, easily, and Graverobber had heard the footsteps stop nearby, could see the outline of the night surgeon.

No point in worrying now. He was already on the ground, and should the Repo Man choose to, he couldnâ??t exactly get away at the moment. The man could just wander over, finish the job now at a leisurely pace and be back home for breakfast. Graverobber straightened some, strolling over to the body. Yep. Under the lungs. Wouldnâ??t be able to hawk the wallet now. He rolled up his sleeve and plunged his arm into the cavity, all the way up to his shoulder and dug around. Ugh. The body was still warm. He liked it better when they had the chance to cool. Ah! There!

Grinning, he pulled out the wallet and wiped it on the manâ??s shirt (no chance in saving that, either) before tucking it into his back pocket.
 
The Repo Man said nothing; he was so still and silent right then that someone may have mistaken him for a freakish statue, built against the wall of the dank alleyway to scare people away. He stood outside the radius of light that the dim street lamp was emanating, but some of the residual was reflecting off the shining visor and glimmering in the blood droplets that had spattered his scrubs. His arms were crossed over his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles, but his back was so stiff that he managed to make an intensely casual posture look formal.

And even though his face was covered, there was a clear air of amusement surrounding him as he watched the scavenger climb down from his perch and sidle towards the body; there was only the barest moment of uncertainty from Graverobber, a brief nervousness as he no doubt reflected on what had happened not so very long ago - even from a few feet away, Repo could see the bruises on the other man's throat. He flexed his fingers, remembering the feeling of the neck in his hands, and thinking about precisely how easy it would be to do it again right then.

But no, he satisfied himself to just watch the other man drop down to the body of George Elder and stick his hand inside of it. Nathan Wallace would balk at the image, fearing for the unsanitary conditions, for the germs and disease that the insides would be rife with, but the Repo Man was almost gleeful at the sight and at the Graverobber's willingness to do something that so many others would find intensely disturbing. It was a few moments of digging around, and he watched the scavenger's face twist with a multitude of different expressions, and eventually the joyous one that indicated he had found what he was looking for, tucked beneath a lung.

It was like an easter egg hunt for the homicidal.

He watched Graverobber wipe the wallet off on the dead man's shirt, and then a harsh noise escaped him - a short, rough bark of laughter, and it's brevity was caused by Nathan's horrified realization of what he was doing.

God, he needed sleep before he started using corpses for some sort of nightmarish puppet show.

He turned then, heading down the alleyway and away from Graverobber; this guy was bringing out the worst in him.
 
Graverobber twitched at the noise, rocking back onto the balls of his feet. Wait. Was thatâ?¦

Was that a laugh?

He grinned crookedly at the figure as he stood, brushing his hands off on his pants. At least the Repo Man had enjoyed the show. â??Next time hide it in a more difficult place to reach!â? he called out after the man, blood stained hands cupping his mouth to project his voice. It startled some old homeless man who had been unconscious a few meters back and Graverobber turned his head towards the â??yelpâ??. When he looked back, Repo was gone.

The dealer did back off then, consciously staying away from the manâ??s routes to give him time to cool down. Hopefully the bloody game of hide-and-go-seek had ingratiated himself with the killer, but he had work to do. Like actually dealing, getting roughed about by Amber, then having to go crawling through the graves to get more Zydrate. That slut was getting more and more familiar with him, as if a few hurried fucks in front of her leashed pets was some sort of way to make friends with her drug dealer.

Didnâ??t work all that well.

Regular whores, now, those were easy. Graverobber had a fairly simple outlook on people: there were three groups, whores, scalpel sluts, and others. Most people fell into the first or the second. Amber straddled the last two with legs wide open, as she did with most things. Repo was one of the few that fell solidly in the last.

Shame. He would have liked to see a mix of category one and two with that man, if only because of his interest in him. Smirking, the dealer ran his hands through the gelled hair of his most recent customers, a nice boy with a face like a pincushion with all his studs and hoops.
 
Nathan sat in the basement with his hands on his head, his elbows leaning onto a cold steel table, his wide eyes pinned onto the GeneCo Repossession mask that sat in front of him, staring back at him with its dark visor. It had been going on two weeks now that Rotti had been sending him piles of repossessions to do, and at that point the forty-something had gone beyond the realm of exhaustion. Now, when he came home from a night of repossessions, he couldn't drop onto the bed and fall asleep, because now it was as though his overtired brain was too confused to realize he had to sleep to stay moderately sane. Instead, he would nod off for minutes at a time, and occasionally woke back up swinging his hand like he had a knife in it, the motion so ingrained and automatic now that he found himself paranoid of standing too close to Shilo.

And Shilo, she was confused. She knew there was something wrong, so he'd told her he was coming down with a flu from one of his patients and needed to limit contact until he was feeling better - he felt guilty for lying to her, and keeping his distance from his daughter was killing him inside, but he couldn't risk that he might somehow show her that side of himself.

He stared at the mask so long that his eyes nearly dried out, and he had to force himself to blink, an action that should have been automatic but had somehow become a chore. His eyes shifted slowly to the repossession forms by his elbow; only one that evening for the first time in weeks, and he found himself struggling against the hope that the numbers were finally waning, that maybe the sleepless nights would be over.

Just one to cut up, one more squirming faceless thing that would screech and yowl while he did his job; he'd lost his temper with one the previous night, because the thing had kicked and screamed and yelled for so long that it felt as though someone had taken a grater to his raw nerves. He'd cut the guy's face open from ear to ear and created a wide, gaping mouth that seemed to finally match the noises that were coming out of it, and there had been so much blood and mess that it had made him even angrier, and somehow he'd ended up sitting on a mess of flesh with vocal cords in his hand - and that wasn't even a part he had been sent to repo. He couldn't remember how it had happened, but he knew he had done it.

But at least Graverobber had stopped following him - several days ago, in fact. It was one less thing to bother with.

Though, for some strange reason, Repo was displeased by this. Nathan maintained it was a good thing the vulture had finally left him alone - he was a problem, not quite a threat, but he had the potential to become one if he lingered for too long. He couldn't risk letting the Graverobber know too much about him, especially after that time he'd found him near Marni's mausoleum.

It had been nearly a week since he'd seen Graverobber, now that he thought about it; Repo wondered if someone had gotten their hands on the drug dealer and did something awful to him. It would be a shame, because Repo liked the idea of doing it himself.

Time was moving in broken pieces for Nathan, because he blinked and found himself outside again, masked and covered in blood from a body he didn't remember slicing up, a patient he didn't remember staking out - but he must have, because the removed eyes were staring up at him from his palm.

You're losing it.

He moved through the back alleys, knowing he should go home and try to sleep, but for reasons he couldn't identify, he wasn't heading for his home, he was going elsewhere, moving down side streets and through tunnels, down dark cobblestones until he found what he was looking for. Graverobber, lit up like a stage show and surrounded by supporting cast, eager whores and surgery addicts who were there to purchase his wares; Repo Man pulled out his knife, a ten-inch serrated blade, and he walked up the alley, scraping the blade against the rough brick wall, sparks flying up around the vinyl clothed monster.

And they scattered; like rats, they scattered.
 
All of them except for Graverobber. The man stood there, watching as the monster stalked up to him, blue-white sparks thrown off his blade. It was a nightmare come true.

So why was he so excited?

He was starting to wonder if he had developed some sort of death wish. A sensible man would have run away, screaming and whimpering. A sensible man would have begged and cried. A sensible man would probably be dead in a few minutes, triggering the Repo Manâ??s predator instinct.

Instead, he raised his eyebrow in a completely unsensible manner and held out his arms like a gracious host. Graverobber almost looked clean tonight, as if he had recently gone home and showered instead of spending the day at the side of some alleyway. His hip was alight with small, glass bullets of Z under his coat. â??And you seem so disinterested the other night,â? he said, that cocky, smug smile playing at his lips. â??Reconsidered my offer.â?

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he was in trouble. Had to be the only dealer on the street that had his own Repo Man. Maybe he should feel honoured. Putting on his best, oily smirk, he tucked a hand against his stomach and bowed. â??To what do I owe this pleasure?â? he said silkily, raising his head to look into those visored eyes. He had to be the oddest character Repo Man would come across, or heâ??d be dead, another corpse to be thrown into the large mass grave they kept the trash.

And that wasn't the way he wanted to find all those bodies.
 
He had stopped expecting the Graverobber to supply appropriate gut responses to his presence; where everyone else with even a thread of sanity left rattling around in their head would have run away, or at least shown some semblance of fear, Graverobber simply smiled and quirked his eyebrow as though he was getting an unexpected visit from an old friend. Repo couldn't say he shared the perspective, but it was interesting to get a different reaction after years of similar ones.

But putting the fear into Graverobber wasn't his intention, regardless of the fact he wondered how the man's painted face would look contorted into an expression of terror - no, his purpose here was much more straight-forward, much simpler. He wanted to just return the favour - and starting out by chasing away a night's worth of customers was somehow amusing to the Repo Man. Naturally, they would be back in a while, they would sidle down the alleyway again once they decided the need for a fix outweighed the urge to stay in one piece, but for now he was providing a niggling little problem for Graverobber.

He rounded on Graverobber, moving in a slow circle around the other man; his footsteps were solid and quick, but there was a sort of restless agitation to him now that hadn't been there before, where he was normally calculated in his movements, he seemed somehow twitchy.

"I was bored." he replied, his voice a deep, growling rumble that turned schizophrenically into a laugh, "You were so entertaining last time that I came to see what show you would put on tonight."
 
Until they came back, though, he was left with this insane monster. â??Flattery wonâ??t get you a discount,â? he purred, standing still as the other circled him. He was like a damned shark, and Graverobber had no intention of putting any blood in the water to start the feeding frenzy.

Well. Not much blood.

â??Which part did you enjoy more, strangling me or ruining Chubbyâ??s wallet?â? Repo was twitchy tonight, filled with an unidentifiable energy. Maybe heâ??d found some other drug to get high off, maybe he didnâ??t have enough blood on his hands and he was going insane from some sort of starved blood lust. â??I have to say that Iâ??m more used to the first, though youâ??ve got more strength than the scalpel slut that usually does it. Less in the way of nails, though,â? he added, rubbing at his neck. The bruises had faded, but having Repo circling him like he was the buzzard this evening reminded him of the five, very distinct pricks of pain.

Stupidly, he reached for the Repo Man, pressing a hand on his chest to stop the circling. â??You get those scrubs off, and Iâ??d be even more entertaining,â? he said, white face mocking as he ran his palm up surprisingly clean vinyl. Oh, he was going to be in so much trouble. But now he was purposely going for keeping the monster on his toes in fear heâ??d lose his head if he didnâ??t. Looked like the Repo Man had a night off, and Graverobber didnâ??t want to get a working knowledge of the otherâ??s skills.
 
He hated when Graverobber used that tone; it was a silky, intentionally smarmy tone that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle for reasons he didn't want to explore, and he continued his slow movements around the other man, his fingers twitching and twisting and clenching as though he was itching to get his hands on the man again. He made it so easy to want to.

At some point, it did occur to Nathan that this was ridiculous; he didn't know why he had sought out a man who so clearly raked his nerves, someone who pissed him off to no end and got in his way and followed him around. He had no idea why he had gone in search of the Graverobber, because now that he was there, he wasn't sure what he meant to do - but the Repo Man insisted on circling him like a predator would, watching him. He wasn't even clear on his own intentions anymore; it was confusing.

But then there was a hand on him, stopping him, and even through the thick vinyl he could feel Graverobber's fingers on his solid chest, running up it. Almost instantly, the Repo Man jerked back as though the touch had burnt him; lately it had been a source of irritation to the poor doctor - in the seventeen years since Marni had passed, his contact with other humans had been limited to the hugs he gave Shilo and the times his hands were sunk into chest cavities or yanking out bones. But lately he had been repeatedly touched by people in ways that weren't platonic and it was striking something in him that he didn't like. He moved a few inches away from the Graverobber to avoid the touch, like an abused animal would do.

"You're liable to get strangled again." he said flatly.
 
Showing weakness in front of a man who preyed upon others was a poor idea. The dealer caught the signs ofâ?¦ not fear, but a sort of apprehension. He didnâ??t like to be touched; that much he had learned the other night. Repo had actually fled from him in that moment, and Graverobber, sensing the weakness, went after it like the hyena he was.

â??There are other things you can do to me,â? he said, arching his eyebrow slowly in response to that surly tone. So the Repo Man disliked being touched to the point that heâ??d back off like that. Odd. So it was fine to touch peopleâ??s insides in a way more intimate than sex, but as soon as he had a hand on his chest or shoulder he flipped out? â??Without the gloves.â? He wasnâ??t used to playing this part; in fact, he detested it most of the time, but there was something there, and he worrying that sliver of weakness like a dog at the last bit of muscle on a bone.

Graverobber had feared earlier that heâ??d get his balls chopped off for offering, but this response wasnâ??t the sort heâ??d expect from insulting the man. â??Come on, it canâ??t be that bad to touch a man you arenâ??t killing, is it?â? he asked, leering in a way only a drug-dealing thief could as he took a step towards the night surgeon.
 
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