Grave Matters: A Repo! Roleplay (SevenxKawamura)

[sevenpercentsolution]

Memory was a funny thing.

On a regular basis, Nathan went through the routine of messily removing the organs of an assigned patient - on many occasions he had retrieved lungs, but he had done so knowing that the intention was not for the patient to come out of it alive. His only goal during those times was to take back GeneCo property, and any death that resulted from said repossession - as indicated in the contract - was not the responsibility of the GeneCo company, nor any of its employees.

Not that anyone could complain anyways.

But as Prana asked him to remove the second lung and Nathan numbly nodded, he stepped forward, he wasn't possessed by thoughts of the filthy streets or the screaming victims, he didn't think about the gore and the scent of fear.

Instead, he remembered the clean walls and the bright lights of a surgical ward, the sound of heart monitors and the smell of antiseptic, marking a time where Nathan Wallace had been a good man, a brilliant young doctor with a future, a loving wife, and a child on the way. Memories of anatomy books and biology labs, the nervous days of school where he always feared he would somehow make a mistake, even though he never did.

And instead of the cold chill that came with Repo, Nathan felt a strange, calm warmth. It was familiar.

Without flourish, Nathan clamped off the artery, veins, and air tubes; he neatly and efficiently removed the lung, and it occurred to him that Graverobber looked just as pale now as he did with his make-up on.

 

[Kawamura]

His hands were good. Irene watched, almost pleased, as if he were her protégé. Maybe, if things worked out, he would be. She wouldnâ??t mind a quiet, mousey man, a(though she didnâ??t believe it) recovering Repo Man following her into surgery, not when he had hands like those. Another set of skilled hands stolen right from Rotti Largo, damn, thatâ??d be good. He seemed calmer, too, as if he'd found some inner peace or simply was too frightened to be afraid anymore.

â??The lungs are pretty new,â? Irene remarked and Prana looked up, something odd in her dark eyes. â??How long will this generation last.â?

â??A good portion of his life, if theyâ??re not defective,â? she said, and her tone of voice left little room for conversation. Prana was always like this, though; get her to the second half of a surgery, where things were starting to look good, and she got quiet save for the terse commands. Not that there were many commands left. Once the second lung was out, Prana worked in near silence, not even needing to request tools because the surgery was so routine, so familiar. The only difference was she asked the other man to close up. Finish. Do exactly the opposite of what Repo Men did.

And all the while, the boy on the table was still alive, heartbeat strong. Irene was almost proud of that, too, because it wasnâ??t too often they got patients that were almost healthy.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Nathan desposited the old lung into a storage container; he suspected Graverobber's old lungs would be recycled yet again, put into someone with even less time than he'd had, give them maybe another two years - three, tops. Living from payment to payment, though, even a week's extension was a gift of life, and especially in a city where the gutters ran with blood.

He was aware that Irene's remark hadn't been directed at him, and that Prana gave a response, but Nathan found it spilling from him anyways"

"Twenty-five to thirty years." he said, his voice oddly distant as he stared at the internal organs of a man that he'd had in his bed that morning - a man that he had made love to repeatedly over the course of the last few weeks; grimly, he added, "Longer than the prospects of life on this city's streets, anyways."

He could have actually touched Marcus' heart, right then.

At Prana's next instruction, Nathan stepped forward again, casting another sideways glance at Graverobber's face; it was strangely peaceful, but he supposed that was normal, what with all the drugs being pumped through his system right then. Again, he went through motions that felt as though they were programmed into him; the insertion of a chest tube, the closing of the ribs and muscle, and finally the suturing of skin - stitches that were done with a near obsessive hand, perfectly aligned and carefully placed.

 

[Kawamura]

â??I donâ??t think Iâ??ve ever seen a sixty-year-old grave robber,â? Prana remarked darkly but Irene would have been disturbed if the old woman started being all sunshine and flowers at this point. Pranaâ??s mood was inversely proportional to how well a surgery was going at the end: after all, in a run down place like the charity hospitals, a strong kid like the one on the table could be doing fantastically until he got a simple pack of microbes in his blood. Then all that hard work would be undone and, well, Prana was a good woman. She wouldnâ??t want to see even a deadbeat like this die because they didnâ??t have the resources to sterilize properly.

â??Hey, maybe thatâ??s just because heâ??d be good enough to get the works. Heâ??d look younger than this one,â? one of the nurses chimed in, recognizing Singhâ??s â??we did goodâ? dark mood as a sign to start talking without getting snapped at.

The kid the table was still out, but vitals were still looking fantastic. â??Good O2 levels,â? Irene remarked because the middle-aged man that had assisted with the surgery looked like he needed to hear it. â??Good pulse, good nerve responses. I think we have us a Franken-Robber.â?

â??Wonderful job, Doctor,â? Singh said tersely, checking over the stitches with care. â??You must have done a lot of surgeries before your â?¦ retirement.â?

â??Or you were practicing on the roast at home,â? Irene added brightly, moving out of the way so one of the more practiced nurses could start mixing the cocktail of painkillers and anti-coagulants.

â??We donâ??t need to hear about your hobbies, Doctor,â? Singh responded dryly and Irene cracked a giant, crooked smile under her mask, her blue-green eyes bright with cheer.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Nathan didn't pull his eyes away from Graverobber, even for an instant; his focus remained pinned to the vulture as though the man's very vitals relied on him continuing to watch. He heard Singh's thinly-veiled animosity, but he couldn't blame her,

"A few." Nathan said distantly, "When it all started, GeneCo had rules about only staffing skilled surgeons. It's more like a fast food service now - anyone who can pick up a knife can cut into someone."

Finally he stepped back; he blinked and his eyes suddenly began to water as he realized how dry they had become.

He turned his head to look at Irene, briefly puzzled when he was faced with her smiling eyes,

"No, the roasts all come pre-sutured these days." he replied, a strained attempt at a joke.

 

[Kawamura]

And Irene, as all people interested in their conversation partners, grinned a little wider in appreciation of the joke, weak as it was. Hell, it was cute. The man was shy, no doubt about it, or else he'd been shut up for the last few years as one of Rotti's men. They'd gotten a few Repo Men through their little charity hospital, nothing like this one. Most Repo Men were psychotic and had to be put down. This one was well dressed, soft spoken and wasn't attempting to remove their fingers.

Irene just couldn't believe the rumor, but what if it was right? What if this colourless, gentle man was a Repo Man?

â??Doctor, you will clean up with us. Afterwards, Irene will set up a cot in the boy's room. I hope you don't mind the lack of privacy.â? Ah, Singh. Always businesslike, efficient. She was already engaging in her end of surgery ritual, removing the gloves, the mask, moving towards the door. Irene looked back to man, the one who had less colour than his pale blue mask, and rolled her eyes.

â??Come on. I'll get you a place to sleep while we finish post-op.â?