Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

Grave Matters: A Repo! Roleplay (SevenxKawamura)

He hadn't really thought this through - of course, he had known what he was going to do when he'd realized that Gregory Crew had lungs he could salvage, that they were recent organs that wouldn't have the need to be traced, that there was no debt attached to them that would bring about a need to have them repossessed, they were simply second-hand. Lovingly used. He had known he was going to take the lungs, and he had known where he was going to bring them - but that was the end of his planning because he hadn't got around to thinking about the implications of the situation, he had only been thinking about the gravity of it. He had been thinking about how urgent it was that Graverobber get a replacement for his current lungs before he had to turn to GeneCo for it, of course, he had a year or two before it was no longer optional, but the knowledge of the approaching deadline had led the doctor to do what he felt was neccessary.

He hadn't, however, thought about what would actually happen when he left the organs.

He hadn't thought about the fact Ray might react with aggression, given that only hours earlier he had witnessed the very same Repo Man tearing a man to wet, messy shreds in the GeneCo basement. He hadn't thought about the golf club that the older doctor kept by his desk, or the young woman he felt he would be protecting from the night surgeon. Most of all, he hadn't thought about what he was going to say to Ray to explain himself, why he was doing this.

Why are you bringing me organs?

He took a long moment to reply to the question, clamping down his jaw until he could pick out the proper words, and only then did he get them out:

"You're the only one I trust to do the right thing." Nathan said; he knew that removing the mask would lend to the earnesty, but he didn't want Bankole to see his expression right then, he didn't want the man to know - even though he probably already did - what was going on.

"The scavenger." he added, looking pointedly at the lungs, but he couldn't bring himself to explain any further, couldn't get out the words to communicate why he was doing it, but all he managed to get out was one more word, and it had a pitch of need that Nathan wasn't proud of, because all he said was: "Please."

And then with utmost care, he backed away from the desk, and then turned for the door.
 
Ray stared, mouth open stupidly as his mind tried to register what exactly it was the Repo Man was asking. There were rumors, of course, that the thief had been seen with a Repossession Agent, that sort of information spread like wildfire (a metaphor very young people understood these days lacking any sort of wilds to have fires in) and whores had loose mouths as well as other things. And the dealer had developed an unhealthy fixation.

But this desperation, this was, were theyâ?¦?

The old man stared and stared and only managed to break that spell once the Repâ??Once Wallace stepped away. â??W-wait!â? he stuttered, dropping the club onto the desk. He had heard so much simple need; they could only be engaging in something like a romantic relationship, thatâ??s the only thing Ray could imagine would produce that response. Wallace didnâ??t seem like a junkie, lacking the jerky movements and, well, the urge to hump the grave robber in public.

A wide, toothy smile brightened his face and he was moving, coming around the desk. â??Wait, just wait. I need payment.â? He cocked his head to the side, taking in the other doctor, then nodded. â??Youâ??ll need a quick blood test if you two are sexually active. I canâ??t get my hands on him other wise; Iâ??ll send you home in street clothes, if you want. Andâ?¦â? Now this was difficult. â??Your lab. The grave robber said you had one. I need to use it and, if you have it, a sample from your former missus.â? Ray stood back, offer on the table; best to start high in haggling, but he couldn't imagine Wallace would give all that for the bum.

Though, maybe, if he was desperate enough to bring the old doctor lungs, maybe he was.
 
Bartering; Bankole was bartering with him for this - the very fact that it was questionable, whether the organs would get to Graverobber - it caused another of those bizarre wells of panic inside Nathan's chest, and he pushed it back down as he had learned to long ago, shoved it back into its place. Again, he was grateful for the mask and the privacy it provided; even then, he did take a step back when Bankole came around the desk as though to avoid any possible contact, just as he had done when he had first met Graverobber.

Some things didn't change.

But Nathan had to bite back anger at Bankole's requests; it wasn't the use of the lab, or the blood sample that bothered him - either of them, he would give up freely if it meant the lungs reached their destination but -

"You want me to -" he rasped, feeling the rage welling in his chest; he wanted a tissue sample from Marni, and it made him feel sick, the very thought of -

- he held down a shudder, swallowed down the bitterness,

"At least do me the favour of not treating me like an idiot, Dr. Bankole," he ground out; Bankole didn't want the samples to look for sexually transmitted diseases, or to do research on Graverobber - he was looking for something else, he was digging for it and apparently Nathan had just given him bartering chips. The old man wanted something, he was hungry enough to ask a Repo Man for it, and Nathan wanted to know what could possibly come from removing a tissue sample from the preserved corpse of his long dead wife, what would drive Bankole to use Nathan's desperation against him.
 
Ray stopped again to watch Wallace though his eyes were focused on something a thousand meters away. Sometimes he forgot that he wasnâ??t blind, that his eyes were connected to his brain and receiving information and he ended up processing everything else but sight. Now there was anger: understandable, but wasted on him, especially if his theory was correct.

â??Iâ??m not, Doctor,â? he responded politely, pulling away again so he could re-group, renegotiate. The old man hunched over his desk, pulling out thin, faded notebooks: scavenged lab books, old lined binders and composition books, the sort one would find in elementary and middle schools and the bottom of bargain bin stationary. Most people used computers these days, but for information like this, well, it was best to have a hard copy.

The notebooks might have been old, but the writing wasn't: clear, spidery black writing filled the pages as he opened them. â??I want your blood for testing: I worry whatâ?¦ â?? he glanced up with a smile. â??Shall we say â??social diseasesâ?? heâ??s picked up in the streets.â? Ray flipped through the pages till he found what he wanted, set that book aside then moved to another. â??That is complete truth. I donâ??t waste lies on that.â? Another, this was filled with newspaper clippings.

â??Your wife. The grave robber says you keep the body in your house. Iâ?¦ I have a hypothesis regarding her death.â?
 
There was a sudden chill in the air, and the Repo Man stood motionless in front of Bankole, so still and silent that he may have been mistaken for some bizarre, PVC-shrouded statue - he seemed to have stopped breathing for that period of time, because even the subtle rise and fall of his chest had dissappeared. For that instant, the world seemed to stand still as though the old doctor's words had hit some massive pause button - but then Nathan was moving again, but he was removing his mask, pulling it away and leaving him making eye contact now. His expression was hard and cold, his mouth twisted in a way that suggested he was barely stopping himself from baring his teeth,

"A hypothesis." Nathan repeated, "About my wife's death."

He didn't need a hypothesis; he knew the situation in detail - he had been there, he had done it, Marni had a bad reaction to what was meant to be her cure, and he had ended her life without anesthetizing her, had cut her open. What use did Bankole have, taking a sample - all he would find was dead, diseased blood, an illness that had its hand in unfairly removing Marni from a world that needed more people like her.

"Perhaps you should leave it as a theory." he said, and his voice was soft, but there was nothing kind about it; his tone was as chilly as his laboratory, "You've done enough digging."
 
Ray paused again and looked up from his notes. That... now that was not the response he had expected from Wallace. He stared through him again, thinking. The Repo Man's voice had dropped the temperature in the room a good twenty degrees and, if he wasn't careful, could turn fatal.

No. No, it wouldn't. Not when Ray was the only person who had the resources Wallace needed.

Now he was looking at his visitor. He had balled his fists up and rested his weight on his knuckles, head cocked as he watched the other doctor. "There must be a misunderstanding," he said carefully, vibrant green eyes glued to the night surgeon's face as he tried to figure out where exactly this conversation had gone wrong: Wallace shouldn't be protecting Largo, so there was something else. "Dr. Wallace, please," he gestured back to his door. "Come inside proper and speak with me. I think I have information you would like to know about. And the grave robber shouldn't be back home until, oh, four or so."
 
Nathan's jaw was clamped hard again, the muscles working visibly as he observed Bankole; the older doctor was rapidly approaching the edge of a cliff and with just a few more steps in the wrong direction he was going to fall - there would be no going back, because Repo would be waiting. He knew, because he could feel the chill that was rolling up his spine, and he was holding it down solely because Bankole wasn't on his repossession list - but the feeling caused a small twinge of fear in Nathan, because it wasn't the feeling that came with Graverobber. This wasn't playful, there was no urge to simply inflict pain on Bankole, no urge to just scare him into backing away; this had gone beyond that - Repo wanted to see Bankole's insides, he wanted him dead and in pieces, strewn around the office.

Something about the older man had caused a switch to go off in Repo, and it wasn't malice; he just wanted him gone, out of the way - which meant Repo saw a threat.

Nathan didn't want to kill anyone, he really didn't - but now he couldn't get the unholy image of Bankole's bloodied, eviscerated corpse out of his head, and it left him disturbed by Repo's ability to project the image into his mind.

They were treading dangerous grounds, and if Bankole's change of pace was any indication, the other man knew it as well.

"There must be a misunderstanding." Nathan agreed sharply, "You couldn't possibly be asking me to cut into my wife's body -"

Again.

Oh god, I can't cut her again. Please don't make me do this, please, I can't.

" - so you can chase a hunch. There's no need for a post-mortem, especially not seventeen years after the fact - it was a blood disease." he said, stepping through the door that Bankole gestured to, carrying his mask with him, fingers digging into it so hard that the back of the mask seemed to be twisting in his hand, "You've been doing - medical research - so you must know that."
 
Unlike most of the scalpel sluts he and his staff treated (and, he theorized, the drug peddler), Ray had no self-destructive desire hounding him. Oh, sure, he had little fear of dying; he had lived a good life, had done the best he could for as many people as possible and had raised several children and Helen well. The old man had no regrets, and should Wallace and whatever it was that haunted the younger man kill him, he'd have little problem standing before his Maker. That wasn't the problem, though. There was something here, some truth they had found out and Ray couldn't stop digging. The symptoms were showing and he just needed a few more tests, just a few, and they could finally know the infection for what it was.

Why couldn't Wallace see that? He was a doctor (now that he had seen the change in the man down in Rotti's own frozen hell, he could consider the other a peer), didn't he feel the same urge to test and test and test till they found the damned cancer GeneCo's king had triggered? What was putting blinders on this man of science? Ray had diagnosed some sort of mental illness: trauma did that, the old man had probably picked up one or seven nuerosis himself if he had the time to sit down and talk it through. Was it that, then? He was close, digging his fingers near the wound: if he could just find the source, it could heal. And perhaps he'd have what he needed to destroy Rotti.

"If you like, you can get out of that... smock. It must be heavy. If not, the furniture has seen worse than blood." There was no need to tell Wallace to be quiet, the man, dangerous as he was, was as quiet as a mouse. A well-armed mouse. "I have her records, yes," he said calmly, waving the younger man over to the faded couch. That admission wasn't the wisest thing to say to a GeneCo employee, but he was also staring at him with stolen eyes: he was already in for a pound, might as well throw in that last cent. "Records, too, of your research. Some, I should say. The bastard's made it difficult to get enough details." Ray sat down across the couch with an 'oof', irritated. In this God-forsaken city that was filled with sounds, he'd learned to follow the silence, and this whole Wallace matter was barely more than an echo. "So you're telling me, young man, that you or any of Rotti's men never preformed an autopsy?"
 
Of course Bankole had Marni's record; he wouldn't have expected any less from the older doctor because it seemed he couldn't be deterred once he had set himself on a particular path. He was a man who liked to dig, who involved himself into things that he never should have even known about to begin with and seemed to be under the mistaken impression that it was his prerogative to do so - that somehow, he was outside the laws that had been put in place to restrict the information to begin with. There were some things that were meant to go undiscovered and this was one of them; this was something that had been kept exceedingly quiet for years, something that no one had uttered a word about save within the walls of GeneCo and, recently, inside the Wallace home.

It left Nathan with an ache in his chest, a horrible doubt - had Graverobber told Bankole what he had confessed? Did Bankole know Shilo was alive?

Worst of all, he knew it wouldn't be uncharacteristic for Graverobber; trust wasn't something they had between them, and he should have known better to begin with - but he'd still let himself be seduced. He couldn't even be sure that Graverobber had said a thing, but he knew that this situation was a direct result of his involvement with the scavenger, he knew things would have been simpler if he had continued to ignore the man or better yet, gotten rid of the problem.

Yet even then, he heard a tiny, timid voice telling him this was worth it, because after all, as imperfect as Graverobber was, the number of people in Nathan's world was shrinking every day and it was worth the fight to keep those precious few alive because they were his final link to a humanity he was precariously close to leaving behind.

And since meeting Graverobber, he had felt more human than he'd felt in a very long time.

"I'll stand." Nathan said flatly, and it went without saying that the GeneCo uniform would be staying on as well, complete with the drying blood and gore. His fingers twitched under the gloves.

"There was no need for an autopsy, the - cause of death was conclusive."
 
As if hearing Wallace's thoughts, Ray remarked quietly, "I don't want to cause a domestic disturbance, but he did mention your kid. Way back in the beginning of this." The older man looked sympathetic: after all, the grave robber wasn't a trustworthy fellow most of the time, in fact, he wasn't a trustworthy fellow by definition. But he'd got this information out before anything like trust would have had time to grow between them. "He heard her voice by phone and mentioned this when I was showing him the obits that described both their deaths. If," he started gently. "It helps, I lost a wife and two children myself. And a grandchild."

Nathan Wallace, after all, was not the first man to suffer. Nor would he be the last.

Ray sat back again, eyes half-lidded as he regarded the younger man. "But let me get this straight," he said clearly, fingers steepled in front of him. He was a tall man and had to slouch to have his head properly touch the top of the chair, leaving his long legs to stretch out in front of him. "You're dealing with a man who has destroyed lives. You take his woman, she dies, and he gets you as a Repo Man. Perhaps I'm missing something, but doesn't this sound a bit... suspicious to you?" He was treading dangerous ground, not only because he ran the risk of royally pissing off the Repo Man, but because he was making theories without all the evidence. That was a bad habit.

But he had to give Wallace some reason to want to go through with this. "You never preform an autopsy, assuming you know the cause," he repeated quietly. "And you must have never heard the rumors."
 
It would make sense; when he thought about it, he could remember pieces of the night Graverobber had shot him up with a strong dosage of Zydrate, and that Shilo had called him in a panic, concerned - it was the first evidence of her existance, and it could have come up in casual conversation, an absent-minded mention of the girlish voice that he had heard, when Nathan Wallace was a man who supposedly lived alone.

The scavenger didn't know when to shut his damn mouth.

But he would deal with Graverobber later.

He felt a twinge for Bankole at the mention of his losses - but he also knew the other man was trying to create a bond between them, something that would hinder Repo's growing bloodlust. He kept that in mind; Bankole wasn't seeking camraderie, he was looking for something else and somehow, he had some part to play in Ray's ability to get that information.

He watched Bankole stretch out in his chair, and suddenly he couldn't help the feeling he was being interrogated - and then the feeling that someone had just dumped cold water on him. Slowly, he turned around and met eyes with Bankole, finding himself looking into the green irises, taken from a man he had killed not so very long ago; they seemed more accusing than usual that way.

Nathan stared at Bankole; he stared at the doctor for a very long time, completely silent, because what the other man had just said -

- finally, the shock registered on Nathan's face, eyes going round, and he finally managed to get a word out but it came out so quietly that it could barely be heard:

"What?"
 
Nathan gave him more credit in the ruthless department than was due: it was easy, after all, to see the Repo Man as a pawn when he had been just that, a Repo Man with no family and no emotions. After all, the other agents he had dealt with had, without fail, been horrible people, nasty, psychopathic, the sort that should be locked up not given a knife and told to have fun. Wallace was different, sometimes. And now he had a kid and maybe even a lover.

Please let there be a ram, he prayed silently. Just a tiny ram to sacrifice instead.

Out loud, he said, and not unkindly, "The rumors, child." Nathan's eyes were wide, shock breaking through the mask of cold anger. "Oh, they were hushed up pretty quickly and I only heard them second, third hand. 'Poisoned that bitch', they said. 'Got the whore good.' No one likes Rotti, but most people thought it was the funniest thing." Now was probably not the time to launch into a talk about double standards for women and all, though he remembered being angry about it. Who in their right mind would want to stay with Rotti? Hell, he'd been gone earlier even if it killed him.

And then they had stopped and Ray had forgotten about them for the longest time. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Follow the silence. He had broken his own biggest rule.

"That's why I want samples. I want a proper autopsy done. I won't ask you to do it." He remembered when his wife and parents died, all within the same week to the same mysterious organ failures, he hadn't wanted a thing to do with the bodies. To keep them for so long would have seemed the greatest act of self loathing. It had hurt even worse when they had finally made the break through shortly afterwards. "But I know Rotti. He destroys the lives of those he hates, who steal from him, who betray him. Then he tries to keep them on a short leash to do his bidding or he just throws them away."
 
Nathan's stomach churned; he found himself reaching out for the wall to steady himself as Bankole spoke - he had never asked Marni, had never thought to question her past, to ask about her previous lovers. Before her, he had been a geneticist and a surgeon for GeneCo, a quiet and bookish man with no family and no lover, a man with no social life who spent all of his time working quietly in either a lab or an operating room. He had been given awards for pioneering genetic research for the company and at some point, Largo had even hinted that he wanted Nathan to succeed him as the head of the company - though even back then, he had shied away from the idea because it seemed like too much power. He was a man for behind the scenes; he didn't belong in the spotlight, he just wanted to do his work and had been quite satisfied to do so - until the bill came along, the one that allowed organ repossession.

He'd questioned it just like everyone else had, but he'd also known there was no way to stop it; but at least with his job, he was able to help manufacture organs to save people, he hadn't known the extent of the bill back then, hadn't known what was being done to people - but there had been rumours.

And not long after the bill had been passed, Marni swept into his life like a hurricane; he had seen her in the hallways but hadn't known her name, and she'd smiled at him in a way that had made him duck his head and nearly run into doorways. Eventually, she started appearing where he was, and she'd known his name - no one else had, but she'd known his name and she'd wanted to know more, and her very presence had been enough to send him into a nervous fit, reorganizing his lab even when it was sterile, adjusting his glasses when they weren't lopsided, flipping through his medical texts without actually looking for anything. He had just been trying to distract himself, trying to keep himself from staring at her because her eyes were beautiful and her smile was infectious, and she smelled like lilacs. His behaviour had made her laugh and he hadn't been able to stop himself from fumbling things, his normally deft hands seeming clumsy and useless whenever she came near him.

Eventually he'd found the confidence to ask her to meet him outside of GeneCo, and their lives fit together like puzzle pieces; she had no family, no one she could turn to aside from a best friend - Mag had been a wonderful girl with the voice of an angel, and Nathan had been the one to suggest the transplant. It was new technology then, the eyes that they were going to give her - Marni had taken Mag to meet Rotti, to work out the details for becoming the first to recieve an experimental surgery, and in the end it had been Nathan himself who had done the transplant - he had a remarkable delicacy of touch when it came to his job, a dexterity that allowed him to remove the damaged eyes and put in the new ones without damaging underlying tissue or even harming the original nerves. His operation on Mag had ended up being used for training videos - and he shuddered to think that not only surgeons, but other Repossession agents had learned their trade from watching old, grainy footage of him.

And once Mag had been able to see, she had become indentured to GeneCo - Nathan didn't know it until later, hadn't realized his suggestion had resulted in Mag's slavery to Rotti, because back then he had never fathomed that his boss would be capable of such cruelty.

He had never asked, though, he had never requested that Marni tell him about her past lovers, or even why she had spent so much of her time in GeneCo - at some point, she had explained that she was something of a consultant within the company, but she left GeneCo when their whirlwind romance started. It didn't take long before he proposed to her - they were so enamoured with eachother, and the passion had been unceasing; though he had been shy at first, there had been days where they couldn't keep their hands off eachother and Marni had quickly discovered that her quiet fiancee was energetic in a way she had never imagined.

And he'd asked Rotti to the wedding; Marni had questioned it at first, but Nathan had never understood her doubt - he had assured her, Rotti Largo was a good man, that he would be thrilled to attend as the best man and Mag as the Maid of honour. The wedding had been small and understated, scarcely anyone to bear witness, and Nathan had been oblivious to the discomfort amongst them, but only because he had never known - he just hadn't known -

- but then the pregnancy had happened and they were thrilled, but Marni got sick. He had spent most of her pregnancy trying to find a cure, and during that time, Rotti had worked him to the bone in GeneCo - he had barely slept for those nine months, but nearing the end, he had found the cure but - and then all of the blood, and the cries of agony, and the first shriek from Shilo as she entered the world in the most traumatic way possible. He hadn't known what to do, who to call - he'd called Rotti, and he'd come with guards and they would have taken Shilo away, Shilo, who had her mother's eyes, the same eyes that were dead and staring at him from the operating table he'd had to put her on.
He'd signed the contract because there had been no other option; he couldn't leave Shilo alone in the world, not in a world that was so unceasingly cruel. He'd signed the contract and he'd become a Repo agent for Rotti, who was suddenly showing a darkness he'd never seen before, a darkness that spread and became more pronounced with every passing year as the man reminded him month after month, week after week, reminded him of what he'd done to the point where he couldn't go a day without thinking of Marni's dead eyes, to the point where he associated the smell of her perfume with the scent of death.

Everything he'd known had been ripped apart, and one day while he was visiting Marni's tomb with Shilo, hours after one of the repossessions, it had occurred to him what could happen to his little girl in a world like theirs. The reports on the news, the articles in the paper - children snatched off the street, torn from their homes, people being murdered, the drugs and the anger and the neglect and hatred and perversion, he had done what had seemed like the only option. He kept her in, he put the watch on her like a leash because he couldn't allow her to stray far or she might end up on an operating table with her front torn open and her organs displayed for the world to see, no mercy or anesthetic.

And Rotti called some days, just to ask about Shilo, just to remind him.

He had never thought - no, it wasn't possible.

There had already been little of it, but whatever colour remained in Nathan's face had suddenly drained away, leaving him the colour of a corpse as he directed himself to the nearest chair and took an ungraceful seat as though someone had shoved him down, his eyes distant as his mind sorted through the details.

Repo stirred - but rather than rearing his head nastily, the monster was shifting uncomfortably.

No. No, this couldn't be right.

Rotti Largo was as evil as they came, but he hadn't - no, it had been the medication and the emergency surgery that had taken her life, he had done it. It had been him, the man she was supposed to trust. He wanted to tell Bankole that he was sorely mistaken, that he was looking to the wrong monster, but he couldn't seem to make his voice obey him -

"No." Nathan said weakly, but couldn't seem to present his argument to Bankole.
 
Ray sat quietly, watching: he had a Repo Man pressed up against a wall in panic. It would be amusing if there wasnâ??t so much at stake, if he wasnâ??t saying a hunch, proposing a possible answer just so he could continue the project. If it wasnâ??t hurting the poor boy.

Heâ??d been aware of Rottiâ??s cruelty for longer than Wallace, it seemed. Back then, none of them had realized how far the businessman would go. Heâ??d worked outside of GeneCo at that time, specializing in the bodyâ??s immune responses to organ transplants, like so many others, he had changed his focus in an attempt to aid the search for a cure. Sure, the diseases would probably not destroy the human race: humans were funny like that, they tended to survive when even the odds were against them, but there were mothers and fathers and babies and friends dying, so they had tried. And his group, like many others in an age that treated scientific research like Wikipedia (a useless project now that GeneCo controlled everything useful information-wise), had been part of the cure. They had found the solution: artificial organs, grown not with stem cells, but in a way that they were almost one size fit all. And, with the proper medication, the proper materials, most bodies could be coaxed into accepting the beneficial intruders. It had been genius. For most people, it would be inexpensive, would have a low risk.

It had been the innovation of the twenty-first century. Papers flooded journals, some even written by or credited to a T. Bankole, and theyâ??d had it. Theyâ??d saved the world, all of them.

But scientists and doctors werenâ??t businessmen. Rotti Largo was. Outside of the medical and scientific community, he was the one known for the cure, because heâ??d been able to finance it, his name was on the patent. That hadnâ??t been a problem: very few of them wanted recognition outside of the community, they simply wanted their family and friends to stop dying. At that point, Ray only had his two boys and one grandchild, and he would do nearly anything to keep them safe. Even when his own eyes went out, his lab went in on technology so he could work with them, could still be useful.

He should have realized. Should have known.

Because shortly afterwards, when it turned out that one couldnâ??t get rich from doing necessary organ transplants only, cosmetic surgery had started becoming big. He lost one son, his grandbabyâ??s father, in one of those acts of violence that meant nothing, had been over nothing but money or drugs and his boy had been an unfortunate casualty. While Wallace was busy in his labs, right after GeneCo had come across Zydrate and surgeries could be come frequent enough that repossessions were needed, Ray was driven political.

Theyâ??d tried, after all, when the bill was first proposed, but Rotti had some sob story about needing it to keep organs available to children and, of course, heâ??d lined the pockets of every politician available. While Nathan was accidentally wooing the villainâ??s woman, theyâ??d been out in the streets, raising a ruckus. He saw a lot of good folks, most of them scientists who shouldnâ??t have been involved but where because it was their cure that was getting people killed, die in stupid ways that GeneCoâ??s own personal security chalked up to self-defense. His second child, too far in debt, had committed suicide rather than go under the Repo Manâ??s knife, and Ray had pumped him so full of chemicals that no one could ever use those organs again. And all the while, GeneCo kept that patent, kept the composition of Zydrate secret.

Rayâ??s biggest mistake was digging down to figure out what Zydrate was. After all, it was a moneymaker for GeneCo: after surgeries, people hurt. Most wouldnâ??t go through the flurry of cosmetic surgeries to replace their insides if the bright blue drug didnâ??t exist to make all their pains go away. Heâ??d gone to Rotti Largo and threatened him in the only place that could hurt after his bride-to-be left him: heâ??d threatened to publish the paper, breaking that hold, and he would make sure to have the information available to everyone. The old doctor would write it over and over again so even someone who had flunked out of elementary school could understand it. Itâ??d be like the meth of their generation, not from home labs and cleaning supplies, but the plethora of dead bodies. And itâ??d be easy.

Rotti had made his own mistake, then, taking in Rayâ??s granddaughter. The abductions Nathan feared? Most of them were done by the fat cat himself. Ray had gone and published the paper anyways, then again underground. Heâ??d started a whole series of articles, the first entitled: Tips for the Grave Robber. He moved on to others: how to scavenge, how to process Z, how to get illegal surgeries. Resources, information, everything. Of course, this hadnâ??t been only his work, but heâ??d been the only one to put his name on it because everyone else wanted to hide behind the â??and othersâ??. He didnâ??t blame them, not with Largo.

He had received his baby in pieces: that was thirteen years ago and sheâ??d been barely older than eight. Every day for a week, he was delivered another limb, or her torso, her tongue and finally, her head. Ray had been free at that point: angry as all hell, so much that heâ??d vomited up everything that was in his stomach, but free.

If he was right, he could give nearly that same freedom to Wallace. â??What did he tell you? I saw pieces of your research, Doctor. Did he tell you that you were the one that did it?â? That would be like the bastard, but the problem with evidence was that you simply couldnâ??t trust rumor and hearsay. Perhaps Wallace had killed his wife. But how many of them hadnâ??t killed people when trying a new technique or drug or simply because they were stupid that day? â??Maybe you are, but even you canâ??t be blamed for an experimental cure.â? Behind him, he heard movements: bedclothes and pajamas and the soft creak of his door as Helen stuck her head out.

She gasped softly, but that was covered up with Rayâ??s voice. â??Helen, dear,â? he said gently, not even looking back from the Repo Man heâ??d nearly sent into shock. â??Would you please grab a blanket for Mr. Wallace. And perhaps some tea with some of that whiskey in it.â?
 
Nathan had sunk so far into the seat that it appeared he was trying to vanish into the cushions; he was sitting with his elbows on his knees with his hands on his head and the position had caused blood to smear into the mussed silver and gray of his hair. He looked as though he was precariously close to tearing out handfuls of it in his apparent shock, and he didn't even look up when the door opened, despite knowing that Helen was there - Helen, who was probably still shaky from what had happened earlier that day, who was seeing Repo when she looked at him now.

He could only stare at Bankole or at least, stare in his direction, but it was clear by his expression that he wasn't actually seeing the other doctor right then because his mind was somewhere else entirely.

He felt his chest constrict at what Bankole said next; had Rotti blamed him?

"Yes." Nathan managed to get out, pulling his hands away, his fingertips trailing streaks of blood down his cheekbones and he dropped his hands onto his legs, a slow and boiling anger beginning to appear on his drawn features, "And he had every right to."
 
You shivered and pulled her robe around her. Ray'd been taking care of her since she was eight, and that was half her life now, so she couldn't just ... disobey. He'd never led her wrong yet, though she was feeling today that he was getting terribly close to doing such. This was a Repo Man, a killer, she knew that personally from this morning. But she listened, because this was Ray and You couldn't do anything but.

Her pretty face was pulled into a dignified, apathetic look as she brought the tea and blanket, all while trying to ignore the blood. Not Lazerus', but someone else's, someone who probably didn't deserve that death, and all she wanted to do was throw the scalding hot liquid in his face. He deserved it.

Ray, however, kept quiet until Helen had returned with the tea. "Did he?" he asked quietly, sitting up some. "Is there something else you want to tell me, child?" The old doctor smiled gently. "I promise you, nothing you say here will leave this room. Is there anything else you want to tell me?"
 
Nathan hadn't really even qualified as a child even back when he had physically been one; he had grown up quickly in his tiny family when his father had fallen ill, he hadn't had a lot of time to be young - but sitting in front of Bankole right then, he felt bizarrely like he was a kid again, like he was sitting guiltily in front of a patient adult, one who was waiting for his admission of guilt so he could learn some heartfelt life lesson from it.

For the first time in years, Nathan Wallace thought about his mother - he wasn't sure why.

When Helen brought the tea, he took it with a quiet, distant-sounding 'thank you' as his mind weighed the situation; Bankole was after information that he would get one way or another, and he suspected that he would employ the very man Nathan had recently been bedded by to retrieve the information.

"You'll have to forgive me if I'm somewhat short on trust these days." Nathan said finally, his eyes downcast.
 
Ray laughed slightly as Helen took her position at his side and slightly behind his chair. It was fear that did it. Normally she was a bright, often sarcastic girl, but they were currently entertaining one of Rotti's own personal monsters.

"Understandable," he said kindly as Helen squeezed his shoulder, index finger down twice. Worry. She was hypersensitive in a way only an abused child could be, and something was making her nervous. He filed that away but chalked it up mostly to the situation: after all, there were very few people that weren't nervous when one of the warped surgeons came to call and it simply was a bit much to have one in for tea.

"Remember, though, that you have information that would get me down in Rotti's basement easily." Ray gestured to his own eyes, a sardonic little smile playing at his lips. "You also know about my access to information leaks. If I in any way betray your trust, you can destroy me." The old man sat back again, ignoring the tiny little panic attack Helen was having behind him, though Wallace would see nothing past her bland expression. "I promise you, as a doctor, that this is a safe place. Consider it 'patient confidentiality'."

---

The old man wasn't there. Graverobber stared at the bed, almost... not heartbroken, but lost. He'd taken just a little too much (that was the thing with using old Z, it started to get a bit iffy, and he could never get the dosage just right because it never was right) and he'd wandered back to the Wallace home (he told himself it was because it was closer, but that was a lie), and Nathan wasn't there.

He growled and dropped his shoes outside the door, a sign to the kid that he was spending the night so she wouldn't come in and clobber him, then wandered, barefoot, to the bed. The sheets were fresh and clean: that the doctor had found the time to strip the bed before going out and slaughtering folks for their organs was strangely comforting. He was just about to climb in when he paused, sniffed his shirt, wavered in a way only the high could do, and finally (irritably) headed to the bathroom.

The one thought in his head was that Nathan would have a fit if he dragged in the smell of bodies and dirt into that bed. Sex was bad enough, he thought as he dropped his clothes in the bathroom (not even in the bedroom so the mess was quarantined off in the sterile, tiled room) and vials in the sink, but death? Doc needed more life, not more dead things. Fumbling, he scrubbed everything until he was red, using up quite a bit of Nathan's soap (and getting more on the floor of the tub to swirl down the drain uselessly) and managed to wobble out into the bedroom.
 
Bankole was right; Nathan had enough rope to hang the older doctor with, and it would taken Helen down with him - GeneCo didn't go easy on problems like Bankole, and he knew that Rotti would love to make the old doctor watch Helen get torn apart before meeting his own sticky end. Or maybe even Rotti would leave Bankole alive, and just take Helen from him, rob him of what he had left and make him live on without it - Helen was so young, she couldn't be much older than Shilo and he knew, he just knew who would have to cut her open.

And Bankole wouldn't offer himself up so freely like that if he was aware that it might not be him who ended up strapped down in a cold basement.

He didn't say it, but he shot a dark look at Bankole.

He didn't want to destroy anyone; it was another thing he didn't say out loud, because it seemed like an empty thing to say - these were people who had witnessed him tear a man apart earlier that day - he was a nightmare, sitting in front of them with a cup of tea.

Why hadn't he just been able to swallow his pride and give the lungs to Graverobber in person?

Because then he would know what he's become to you.

But now Bankole knew; the man was reserved about it, but he knew what was going on between him and the scavenger, and now if he wanted Graverobber to have the lungs and to have the transplant - he had to give Bankole what he was looking for. He had to spill things he had told himself no one could ever know.

He started small; he had to, because the words were unfamiliar, even after having said them to Graverobber.

"Marni was sick," Nathan said, "There was no treatment available at the time, not when she was pregnant - she had days where she couldn't get out of bed, her hair began to fall out, even her eyelashes - she lost weight so quickly that it scared both of us. Me, more than her I think - she was strong. I looked for a cure, it took time, but she was nearing full term when I -"

His voice went strangled for a moment; he hesitated, busied his eyes by looking at the tea - it gave him no answers. He looked back up, and there was a bitterness in his voice,

"- it didn't cure her. She deteriorated moments after she took it, there was blood - she was coughing up tissue from her stomach and esophagus, she was alive but there was so much blood and there wasn't enough time. She was dying, and so was our unborn child - I - didn't have anything -"

He looked down again; the blood on his gloves made him want to be sick.

" - nothing but a scalpel."
 
For the thirteenth time (not that he was counting, no, not at all), the scavenger that had hijacked Nathan's bed turned over and looked at the clock. Was this late? When did the doctor usually get home? He couldn't sleep and the fear that burned in his throat like badly fermented alcohol couldn't be attributed to Z.

He wanted his doctor home and whole; the Z just made the fear easier to admit.

For the fourteenth time (not that he was counting), the scavenger turned over.

----

Ray wasnâ??t thinking that Helen would be the one taken in simply because she wouldnâ??t. Heâ??d lost one grandchild, who would have been an adult now, and he wouldnâ??t lose his Helen. It was one of those central truths: energy was conserved, i before e, and as long as Ray was alive, Helen would be safe. Afterwards, heâ??d do his best, but there was only so much a dead man could do. Wallace could give him all the dirty looks he wanted, but the old doctor was comfortable in the thought that, no matter what happened to him, no matter who removed his organs in whatever nasty way possible, his little girl would be safe.

And Ray was patient: he didn't have much time left, he was very aware of that, and everything he did these days, he did with a mind towards him being dead, but he had the time for this child. It had been a long time since heâ??d done the math, but Wallace would have been the age of his own boys, give or take a few years, and that thought suddenly hurt.

Damn it. He had hoped for a tool, for, for something he could use against Rotti. Instead, heâ??d found the only Repo Man with a heart, the only one that was sick in a way that required helping. He would go and pick the mentally sick gazelle of the lot, wouldnâ??t he?

But maybe it was better this way, because then this poor boy that could have been on the same fucking soccer team as his kids, could get better. Maybe.

The old doctor listened to the story silently, hands resting purposely at his sides so he could give Wallace the most open body language he knew. Of course Rotti had done this. Of course. Now he wanted to know, just so he could tell the poor kid â??it wasnâ??t youâ??. He closed his eyes momentarily, praying. Just let it be true. If everything else is false, let me be able to tell him he didnâ??t do it. â??No matter what the cause was, you made the right choice,â? he said gently. â??Send me the scavenger tomorrow and weâ??ll have a time for him. I would request samples from you for STI testing and from your wife for this theory, but neither are required.â? Ray slumped down in his chair, looking suddenly very, very old. â??I do ask that you be quick in whatever decision you make. I fear Iâ??ve prodded Rotti one too many times and you may have to ask Helen for the results.â? He heard the girl stir behind him, but continued. "If you want, you can stay here, but I imagine your... partner is waiting for you."
 
Nathan could understand, at least, the sureness that a father should have about being able to protect his child - that was always the way, wasn't it? Parents held onto the belief that as long as they existed, their baby would be safe, no one would hurt them - but that wasn't the case, it never was. Children got hurt regardless of how fervently their parents wished they wouldn't, they still got abducted and terrible things happened to them and there was no way of being there all the time, no way of stopping it when the world was so unceasingly cruel - even to the innocents.

Especially to the innocents.

Nathan had faced that reality; he knew he couldn't protect Shilo from everything - not out there.

It was why he kept her in. It was the sad truth that the only way his little girl would survive the world was if she never went out into it, otherwise she would be lost in the fray, another victim in the bloodbath that the city was.

But then there were days that he thought about what would happen if something went wrong, if she was left alone in the world - she didn't have anyone else. He didn't like to think about it, not because he feared his own impending death, but because he feared the suggestions that Repo put forth on those occasions, dark whispers, a sly mention of the little blue pills - it made Nathan nearly sick to his stomach. Repo cared for Shilo as much as he did, but sometimes their views on what constituted as protection - sometimes they differed.

He said nothing to Bankole; he had no reply for the old doctor - though Nathan's guilt was as deep as it had ever been, there was a seed of doubt that had never been there before, a series of connections that could be happenstance, coincidences, and it was difficult to remove seventeen years of self-hatred and anger and utter sadness because of the suggestion -

Nathan rose to his feet; he set the tea cup on a table, the drink untouched. He had to leave; he needed the night air.

He began out of the room, but he paused; staring at the doorway before he finally turned, and he looked at Helen - so young, just a girl, just a little girl. There was a despondancy, a sadness in Nathan's eyes even though his posture was stiff, his voice was hard,

"I can't apologize for what I did, it would be empty and meaningless; you know as well as I do that I'll have to do the same thing tomorrow." Nathan said, "But I'm sorry that you had to see it."

He put the mask back on, and he left the apartment complex behind; he changed in the basement, climbed the stairs, and discovered boots outside his door. He looked grimly at them for a long moment, uncertain of how he felt about their presence, and then stepped inside to find Graverobber, sopping wet, and rolling around in the sheets.

It didn't take a doctor to recognize his expression, his eyes.

"Are you high?" Nathan gaped, somehow still managing to be flabbergasted.
 
You shrunk back behind Ray when the Repo Man passed, because there was still blood on his hands and Lazerus had been a friend, or the closest she had outside of Ray. The man hadn't been bad, wasn't selfish like Graverobber. He had a big smile and tonnes of bad jokes that could make a grown man cringe in pain and he always remembered birthdays (even gave You her own when she mentioned not knowing hers). And he'd died over money.

The Repo Man gave her the saddest look, though, even as she tried not to shake, and it reminded her of Ray when he felt he was doing something bad to her. All the times she hadn't been allowed to be a kid, to do things that hurt (like today when he forced her to describe the events in detail as a memory exercise, had made her do her homework even when she had cried), he'd had much that same look.

Once the agent had gone, Ray had stood up with a heavy sigh and tucked her back in his bed. She'd gone to sleep with him reading next to her and dreamt of being little again.

---

Graverobber smiled lazily. "A little," he said, stretching and breathing in deep. He could feel the cool relief spread to his limbs and now he cold just relax. He sat up, swinging naked legs off the bed and scratched his head, one red eye open the other squinted shut. "Was dealing with aging stock. Took a bit too much," he said by way of explanation as he let his head roll to the side. Waiting up for the doctor had left aches in his muscles from stress and fear. "You usually this late, Doc?"
 
"A way to solve that would be to stop taking it," Nathan said as mildly as he could manage it right then; he was tired, he was angry and he had just spilled everything to a man he barely knew, and to a girl who was so afraid of him that she had trembled just when he looked at her. He hated himself, he hated the world, and for a horrible instant he wished everything would just die because he was so tired of it all.

But the feeling passed, and it was replaced by a miserable emptiness that made him look more tired than usual,

"Some nights." Nathan confirmed; Graverobber was naked - Nathan's eyes fell to the floor, "You need to see Bankole tomorrow."
 
The dealer chuckled. Of course he could stop taking it, but what would be the point in that? He'd just end up with aches and pains and irritation from a minor withdrawal and then what? Seemed like a waste when Z made the world just a little brighter, especially when he was out in those graves. dealing with the dead.

Something was wrong, though, even his drugged brain could recognize that. "Who?" he asked, holding out his arms to Nathan. What had happened? Had he been hurt? Blearily, he eyed the older man and tried not to sound worried when he asked, "Are you okay, Doc?" Graverobber cringed.

Had that been his voice? It had sounded so... unlike him. So concerned, so worried. He swallowed, and blamed it on the Z. "I'm honestly not so high, Nathan. I just needed enough for the night." The doctor should understand that; Lord knows he probably took his fortification from his kid and maybe (a little voice in his head whispered), maybe from the Graverobber himself. "You can come to bed," the younger man added lowly, voice rough from sleep and not from arousal. "I showered so I won't smell."
 
"Bankole," Nathan re-iterated, and then realized that Graverobber's confusion was because he actually had no idea who the hell he was talking about; he corrected himself, "Ray. Your landlord. You need to be there tomorrow."

One way or another, he would make sure Graverobber showed up.

He ignored the question; it wasn't something he felt he should answer.

"The very fact you need any should be a good indication -" Nathan began, but then let his voice die away to nothing - not because he felt it was pointless to continue, certainly he knew that one way or another, Graverobber would continue to sample his own wares, but rather he had gone silent because of what Graverobber had said after. His eyebrows climbed high, and he looked the man over,

"You showered." Nathan repeated flatly, peering at the other man over his glasses, "So you wouldn't -"

Graverobber had cleaned up to get into the bed. He had actually showered for him, because otherwise he would have just gotten under the sheets filthy. For most people, the act of washing was a daily routine, but this simple act was touching enough that Nathan felt that horrible, cold emptiness suddenly ebb away, and the way Graverobber put his arms out -

- he's high, Nathan reminded himself.

He moved to the bed wordlessly, pulled off his jacket and socks, and got under the covers, a little grim at how easy he was to win over these days.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom