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Grave Matters: A Repo! Roleplay (SevenxKawamura)

Graverobber finally managed a deep, sucking breath, though he didnâ??t move from his position on the floor. â??Youâ??re attractive,â? he answered simply. Another deep breath. Once he was sure he had gathered himself again, he rolled onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows.

There was no fear in those dark eyes of his just a terrible sort of curiosity. As if getting kicked down half a flight of stairs was not something he saw as all that threatening.

â??I also enjoy how much you seem to resist something so common,â? he added, shifting his weight so a hand was free to rub at the area where Nathanâ??s knee had struck. After all, sex was to Graverobber like â?¦ sport or something. It had no emotional connotation to it after years of simply not seeking romance. Didnâ??t seem healthy to ignore, though. Still talking, he raised the neck of his shirt, checking the skinâ??s color. â??Besides. Sometimes youâ??re even interesting.â? Yep. Already bruising. Graverobber dropped the material to smile up at Nathan.

Or, he would have, had something not caught his eye. There was more of that signature holographic blue. Lots of it, in fact. Curious (and forgetting the man whoâ??s house he had broken into), Graverobber climbed to his feet. Without even a glance to Nathan, he headed towards the light glow, finding something strangelyâ?¦

Weird.

â??Eery,â? he muttered to himself, hands splayed on the wood. Down this hall was more of those holo-portraits. Lots more. Like a damned gantlet of one womanâ??s likeness, ghostly in their 3-D. And at the end, a shrine. This one wasnâ??t blue. In fact, it was a strangely life-like statue. The vulture moved towards it, lined eyes narrowing.

He had forgotten all about Nathan. For awhile.
 
It wasn't the answer Nathan had expected; he had thought this was some sick game of Graverobber's, and he wasn't entirely convinced that that still wasn't the case, but the response was nothing like what he'd thought it would be.

For a long moment, he stared at Graverobber, unable to come up with any response that seemed worth saying - the very notion that another man was physically attracted to him made Nathan vaguely uncomfortable, moreso because of the soft laughter in the back of his mind, and the prodding reminder of what he'd done to Graverobber in the previous week. How good it had felt to take hold of the other man, to feel him and make those sounds leave his mouth -

- Nathan had to shake it off again.

And then he realized that Graverobber was on his feet again, moving through the house and towards the hallway that Nathan spent so much of his time in. In an instant, he was moving down the stairs and going after the other man,

"No!" Nathan said, but Graverobber was already out of his sight, and he knew that he was standing in Marni's hallway, looking at the holographs - seeing - her. Nathan didn't even think, he came after Graverobber and all he saw was the white heat of anger, and he hit him soundly across the back with the fire poker.
 
It was that woman, the one from the tabloids and newspapers.

Graverobber felt a chill run down his spine. Suddenly, Nathan Wallace had gotten a lot moreâ?¦ obsessive. Suddenly he could see the silver-haired Repo Man wandering down this hallway for years, alone save for the eldritch wisps of his woman, maybe even the whispers in his head of the person heâ??d become.

And the girl? Was she just as mad as the father? Did he keep her imprisoned somewhere so she couldnâ??t escape the madman? Did she know about all this, or did she live with an uncle or family somewhere? Ray was right, Graverobber thought, the soft light of the holos coloring his back as he stepped cautiously towards the central figure. His booted feet didn't even make a sound.

Good god. He pressed his face to the glass, then jerked back. Graverobber knew bodies. That was a body. A seventeen-year-old body. It would have been impressive had it not be so seriously wrong. Preserved bodies in a museum, good. In Lenin Square or whatever it used to be called, fantastic. But in a home? Fucking weird. And this from a man who preferred the dead over the living.

Nathan was one sick puppy. That thought was the last he had before the fire poker connected with his skull, knocking him out much more quickly than even Zydrate could.

At least it wasnâ??t the end with the sharp hook.
 
Nathan wasn't sure which part of him was in control, but as he moved Graverobber's unconscious body through the trap door behind the fireplace, it occurred to him that this felt like the first time that he and Repo had conjoined into one entity, all going towards the one purpose of getting him out of the house, further from Shilo, further from Marni's body, further from all of the bits of his private life that Graverobber had managed to invade in the past weeks.

And as he felt the reassuring cold chill of the basement, and as the stark white of it hit his vision, he felt that there was no place further from that life as a dedicated husband and loving father.

In the sub-zero room, Nathan knelt and pressed his fingers to Graverobber's throat; he hadn't killed him, but he couldn't be sure how much damage he had done with the hit - he could have easily turned him into a vegetable. As he manipulated Graverobber's body into the wheelchair and strapped him in at the ankles, arms, and throat, he decided that he would just have to wait it out and see - there was a chance he hadn't done any more damage than giving the other man a headache he would remember for the rest of his life, but at that point he wasn't entirely sure which result he was hoping for.

Despite the cool of the room, Nathan hardly felt it; his mind was already wandering, being swept away as it usually was when he stepped into his workshop. He tugged on the leather butcher's smock, and pulled on elbow length gloves, unconsciously humming a tune.
 
The cold was the first thing he noticed.

His restraints were the second, but only very vaguely. For some reason he couldnâ??t move, and his brain was so foggy he simply didnâ??t understand. Maybe his limbs had decided to hold a revolt. But the cold, the cold he understood. It seeped into his fingers and made the air hurt his purchased lungs. If he could move, he would have stuck them under his arms long ago. There didnâ??t seem to be feeling in the tips of his fingers.

He flexed them, a simple, nearly uncontrollable twitch.

No, there was. He felt how the tips trailed along wood, though the material was nearly just as cold as his hands.

His neck itched. Probably dried blood, some part of his mind offered. Dried blood? Why would he have bled?

Graverobberâ??s eyes snapped open and he immediately regretted it. A hit to the back of his head like that, and his eyes were simply suffering. The pupils didnâ??t have the chance to shrink, fully dilated from staring at the back of his eyelids for so long. When he opened them for a second time, his last try was still burned in red and green on his retinas, over lapping with his vision.

The lab. He was in the lab. Graverobber tried to sit up and was confronted with the problem that he had examined earlier: he was stuck. Immediately, he flexed his forearm and jerked. No good. â??Hello?â?? he gurgled, the restraints on his neck making it difficult to speak properly.

Bloody flying fuck. Nathan had probably left him down here to freeze to death.
 
He was patient; he waited, and it was nearly a quarter of an hour later that Graverobber began to stir, his body recovering enough from the shock to bring him back to consciousness, though the process was a slow one. Nathan stood behind him, watching quietly as the other man got his bearings, took in his surroundings, and ultimately realized his situation - he had watched this process countless times before, and some of them immediately reacted with fear while others held onto the belief that some way, somehow, they would get out of it.

That this couldn't be happening to them.

In the end, though, they all ended up reduced to a waste of flesh, their last legacy being whatever part he stuffed into a bag and returned to GeneCo.

Though this was different; if there was one positive thing that could be said for Graverobber, it was that he was constantly engaging, always forcing Nathan and Repo to step into unchartered territories, and having someone strapped to the chair, someone who wasn't on his list - it was new.

He remained silent and motionless for several long moments after the other man had spoken, and then finally stepped into his vision; the housecoat and slippers were gone, replaced with leather boots and the leather smock, high rubber gloves, and a deadpan expression.
 
Graverobber turned his head as best he could, trying to take in more of his surroundings. He was sorry, now, that he hadnâ??t spent more time exploring the lab: perhaps he there would have been something that could help him escape. He was resourceful, after all, Repo being the only GeneCo employee to catch him. Really catch him, not have him writhing under him breathlessly on the pavement (now didnâ??t that sound better put like that than when it had really happened?), have him trussed up like some Inquisition-era prisoner.

There were first times for everything.

He hoped, suddenly, that this wouldnâ??t be the last time.

Dying in what looked like a converted rocking chair was not his idea of a good death. In fact, there was something insulting about the image.

He heard Repo before he saw him, frighteningly enough. There was the sound of stiff heels on the concrete floor (all the easier to wash down, his mind supplied morbidly, and suddenly Graverobber was annoyed to be in his own head), the unmistakable swishing of leather, and then Nathan.

A very expressionless Nathan. Graverobber smirked in false bravado. No, not false, not entirely. That theatric boldness was as apart of the dealer as his tendency towards manipulation. â??There are easier ways to get me to stay,â? he croaked, slumping back in the chair.
 
Nathan didn't return the smile, he just watched Graverobber for a long time,

"I like this way." he replied finally, and then nudged the chair with his foot, sending it rolling slowly backwards, the wheels squeaking across the smooth concrete floor until one of them shifted into the dip in the ground that led to a water drain, while he walked in the opposite direction, actually turning his back to Graverobber as though he had other things on his mind right then. He crossed the room and stopped at a valve; he seemed to consider it for a long moment before he cranked it on, crossing back over, and reaching up above Graverobber, just where he wasn't able to see.

He turned his eyes back to the other man, still peering through the horn-rimmed glasses,

"I don't feel like digging through files. What's your real name?" he asked, business-like.
 
Usually long stares didnâ??t leave Graverobber uncomfortable.

Usually, he wasnâ??t strapped to a chair.

He might have squirmed just a little under that gaze. This was dangerous, and he felt it in his captivity. Graverobber hated to be trapped. He hated to not be able to get information about his surroundings. Repo was doing a fantastic job so far at both, and it annoyed him.

The thief tried to watch, he tried to follow Nathan with his eyes, but there was only a limited amount of motion in the chair.

â??Graves,â? he responded smartly, irritated. â??Robin Graves. My mother had a knack for picking names.â?
 
Nathan stared at him again, and then his lips twisted as he said simply:

"Hm."

And then his left arm would appear in Graverobber's vision, holding a black rubber hose, and he promptly sprayed the other man down with lukewarm water, which quickly began to change temperature in the sub-zero room.

"I have time, you don't, let's try that again," he said, dropping his arms back down to his sides, "Your real name."
 
Graverobber sputtered, because, really, there was nothing else one could do with a sudden blast of water to the face. He squinted his eyes shut, trying to keep cosmetics and whatever was in his hair from getting past his lids.

Water had a way of changing temperature when you didnâ??t want it. One might have to wait half an hour for a pot of it to boil, but as soon as you were in a freezing room? Bam. It got cold, and quickly, taking your heat with it. A shiver went through his body at the loss of warmth.

â??Why does it matter?â? he asked, tongue darting out to dry his lips. His name was of no importance but now that Repo was asking him, suddenly he didn't want to give it.
 
"Well, because in the time it would take me to go look up your file and then get back here, you'd be a meat popsicle," Nathan replied promptly, and there was a peculiar look that was creeping into his expression, an insanity that was slowly glazing over the otherwise cold, clear eyes. It was a visible transition, though it seemed to be happening as a slow progression,

"It just seems easier for both of us this way," he said, "But if you prefer I just leave you here, I'm sure with some effort you might be able to - knock the chair onto it's side."
 
Graverobber blew up on a single drip that was forming at the tip of his nose, mind working. What did he have that he could offer? He couldn't say that he would leave Nathan be: that wouldnâ??t happen, they both knew. Repo had also expressed nothing regarding addiction, so Zydrate was out as well. And certainly not sex. Wallace seemed to be positively allergic to sex, breaking out in terrible cases of â??beat the crap out of Graverobberâ??, not something he wanted in such a helpless position.

There was one thing he had.

â??If I tell you who I sold the eyes to, will you let me go?â? he asked, body tense against the cold. Damn. His coat was out there in that wall-papered mausoleum, of no use to him back here behind the fire place. Due to the heat, his clothes were thin and certainly not layered. He hadnâ??t, after all, expected to be hosed down in a freezer.

He also hadnâ??t expected to watch a man go mad. Like some sort of freak Dr. Jekyll slipping away, but Graverobber wasnâ??t sure the good doctor wasnâ??t also out of his mind. Repo was just a bit more obvious about it. Comically smudged eyes focused on Nathan as the shivers started, a quick rush through his body as he tried to clamp down the involuntary spasms. â??Surely youâ??d be interested in finishing the job,â? he bit out, teeth gritted to keep them from chattering.
 
Nathan frowned; it wasn't a subtle expression, but rather the sort of frown that was made to make it unquestionably clear that he was displeased, and his eyes were on the ground, watching the water drip off of Graverobber and move towards the drain - it was tinted with grime. Dirt was something that Nathan Wallace had little tolerance for - as evidenced by the lingering scent of cleaner in every room - so it naturally amused Repo to no end to see something as dirty as Graverobber in the house.

As though he had just been yanked out of some reverie, he stepped closer to Graverobber, leaning down so he was at eye level; he took in the sight of the dripping trails of eyeliner, and he could hear Repo telling him how nice it would be to run his thumb across that bottom lip and smudge the lipstick a little more, but he ignored it. He didn't, however, ignore Repo's urge to make the other man squirm, and he hosed Graverobber down a second time, soaking him thoroughly,

"You'll tell me that as well." he said, dropping the hose and crossing the room, actually pulling up a chair in front of Graverobber, sitting down on it and propping his chin up on his hand, as though he was settling in for a long haul, "I have time off now. I can wait."
 
Not having the ability to look down, Graverobber was unsure of what exactly Nathan was focusing on. Hopefully there wasnâ??t something down there he planned on using as well.

Suddenly he was at eye level, and those thick-framed glasses were a bit intimidating now. Odd to see that same â??stern fatherâ?? look from before down here, in his sub-zero work place. The dealer watched him, body drawn tight in his attempt to keep from shaking. Damn, it was cold. Colder than he remembered from his first time through.

Graverobber spit out a mouthful of water, wishing he had his hands free so he could wipe off his face. He waited for a moment, then, â??Marcus. Marcus Fell.â? It wasnâ??t worth losing his life to a few syllables he barely remembered. And certainly not to protecting Ray. Now he was shivering, simply unable to stop himself. Graverobber was a mess: streaked hair plastered to his neck and forehead where the water pressure had blown it up, face stained with color, and clothes damp and clinging. â??The person who I sold the eyes to for information about you is an old guy named â??Rayâ??. Heâ??s not hard to find.â?
 
He sat there for a long moment afterwards, his chin on his hand, his eyes flicking over Graverobber's face; with all of the foundation and liner washing away with the water, with his hair and clothes plastered to him, and him stubbornly trying to supress the trembling of his body, it was easy to see exactly how young Graverobber was. He wasn't a kid, but right then, he looked like one, and Nathan felt a spike of guilt - but it was brief enough that he could shove it aside, a feeling he could inspect later when what he had done would undoubtedly gnaw at him.

Finally, he got to his feet and kicked the chair away, a strangely aggressive motion for Nathan, though it was done without any notable expression, and he moved around behind Graverobber, unlocking the brake on the wheels, and pushing the wheelchair along, actually hopping a foot onto the bar on the back and gliding along with it for a moment, like a kid with a shopping cart.

He pushed him past the wall of terrible, sharp things, and towards the door that led to the mausoleum tunnel; opening it, a gust of warm wind from outside blew in and created a sudden heavy fog from the temperatures. He moved around in front of Graverobber and undid the straps on his legs, and then back behind the wheelchair, pushing it past the door and into the dark tunnel; about halfway down, he stopped and leaned around the chair. He pushed a little of Graverobber soaking wet hair away from his ear and spoke very close, his voice low,

"I could have done some terrible things to you in there." Nathan said simply, and one hand crept around to Graverobber's throat, fingers lingering there lightly. There was a long pause, as though he was hesitating with his words, and then he straightened up and unfastened the strap around the other man's neck followed by the ones on his wrists and elbows. Nathan stepped back then, and said nothing more.
 
God, being pushed in this wheelchair was surreal. Graverobber remembered a time, when he was much, much younger, young enough to be the child Nathan saw in that moment, when a nurse pushed him out of his room. It was only a flash, but the feeling it left in its wake was uncomfortable.

The nurse, however, unless he was missing a good portion of his memory, did not hop on the back for a ride. Nor did the hospital have sharp things hanging on the walls and in various jars of what he assumed was antiseptic (to keep the organs safe, of course). They kept those in pastel-colored drawers so the patients wouldnâ??t feel stress. Graverobber could almost appreciate the honesty in having all oneâ??s tools out. Then again, Repo probably cared little for costumer satisfaction.

Graverobber shivered when he felt that first touch of warm air, his body starting to relax. He was still freezing, but now he knew it was almost over, that he could go back soon to the unbearable heat and be grateful. It wasnâ??t from the cold that he shuddered the second time, Nathan surprising him with that almost gentle touch, his breath warm in his ear and fingers hot on his neck, just above the strap.

Unsteadily, Graverobber raised himself out of the chair, hands nearly slipping. He turned to look at Nathan, clean face still surprisingly expressive even without all that gaudy make up. The smirk looked nearly the same without the dark lipstick, though he certainly looked a lot less like a corpse. â??Next time, find some horrible things Iâ??ll enjoy,â? he said, then, in a fit of absolutely stupid brilliance (somewhat like yelling â??gravesâ?? in a cemetery crawling with GENcops), the dealer leaned forward, grabbed a handful of grey hair, and pressed his mouth to Nathanâ??s.

There might have been tongue.

Then he was gone, whistling to himself as he climbed back towards the tomb. It felt good to be alive, though he could have done with being a bit more dry. His clothes and hair were already sticking to him uncomfortably and it would only get worse. The dealer would have to head back and clean up before Ray found out what information he had given Nathan. Graverobber had the feeling that the two men would be making each other's acquaintance soon.
 
Nathan had been watching impassively as Graverobber got his bearings, got himself onto his feet and sorted himself out; he was dripping steadily, and the entire wheelchair was soaked as well. He had expected some smarminess from the other man of course - from what he had learned, Graverobber couldn't resist parting shots, but he never saw it coming when Graverobber came closer.

He had been just about to reply, had just parted his lips to speak, and then there was a hand in his hair, and he was yanked forward and nearly pulled right off his feet and into what was possibly the most aggressive kiss of his life. Nathan was so stunned that he didn't even move, he was frozen as Graverobber made quick work of ravaging his mouth, and completely silent as the other man turned and walked away, whistling a sprightly tune.

Nathan stood there for a long time after, simply staring, and when he finally snapped out of it, he glanced downwards and actually rolled his eyes.

He stood in the cold room for while afterwards, rinsing off anything that Graverobber might have left behind, and when he returned to the sitting room, he found the other man's coat still there and swore so loudly that it alarmed Shilo.
 
You mentioned to Ray that she had seen Graverobber slink out of the building early that morning while the old man was dressing. He stopped, sighed, then continued with his buttons and asked her to turn the page. Ray had, of course, gotten used to doing mundane things without sight and the lenses in his current eyes were falling apart so quickly he was getting practice in a skill he had thought heâ??d never really need again.

Today would be the last day with those finicky things. It had taken work and calling in quite a few favours, but Ray had finally found someone with the skill to perform the surgery and the desire to do it for cheap. Lucky. But now, he wasnâ??t so sure. Nocturnal creatures like his resident dealer did not get up early: they preferred to sleep the day light away and rise with the moon like the vampires in the movies he used to like as a kid. An apt image for Graverobber, who fed off the dead and the living alike. When he was a younger man, Ray would have never thought about dealing with the likes of dealers and junkies. Things had changed, though. Of course, he thought with a weak smile, he had also imagined that, come seventy, heâ??d be playing golf, annoying his children, and spoiling his grandchildren.

Some things simply didnâ??t work out.

â??The ratâ??s leaving the sinking ship,â? he muttered to himself as You went to go fetch the charts for today.

He had a bad feeling about this.
 
Ray's sinking feeling was justified, because as You dissappeared, someone else stepped into the room; Nathan's footsteps were smooth and silent, and he took in the sight of the other man - Graverobber had been right, it hadn't been difficult to find Ray, he'd merely needed to mention the name to one of the many stoned bodies littering the backalley, and he'd ended up directing himself the rest of the way with ease.

A single look at him told Nathan that the man had GeneCo brand occular implants, and that they were wearing out quickly - it was an unfortunate flaw in the original design, and by the looks of it, Ray had one of the first prototypes installed. The newer ones - like the ones that had been stolen - were better quality, designed to last for decades longer than the old ones, so it was really just Ray's good fortune that Graverobber had staked him out on that particular night.

"It's difficult to find good surgeons these days," Nathan said out loud; obviously Ray was in the process of planning his surgery, and especially for the eyes, it wouldn't do well to settle for one of the butchers that populated the back alleys; the occular implant was too complicated, too sensitive for it to be done by just anyone. He hoped Ray had found someone decent, one who wouldn't just leave him on the operating table and take the eyes for himself, as the unregistered hack and slash monsters were wont to do.

"Especially ones willing to implant stolen organs."
 
An old, thread-bare lab coat had barely settled on the old manâ??s shoulders when he heard a foreign voice. Unlike his visitor, Ray was tall and made of little more than bone and skin. He also did not dress conservatively, for Nathan Wallaceâ??s greys and blacks, the back-alley doctor had on an obnoxiously loud Hawaiin shirt and clashing red-blue plaid pants. Somehow, he made the long-suffering look he gave Wallace not look out of place.

Wallace was much more gaunt than those old wedding pictures showed: his hair was nearly free of color and there were heavy bags under his eyes. Rottiâ??s doing, heâ??d wager. Ray reached for his stethoscope and tucked into the left pocket.

â??Yes, it is. Luckily for our patients, I have quite a few sets of skilled hands that work for me.â? He regarded Wallace calmly, â??Generally, I would not consider scavenged organs to be â??stolenâ??.â? Ray shrugged thin shoulders, then continued. â??The bodies are left out for the trash, and if we can use the undamaged organs, we do. I hope that isnâ??t a problem, Mr. Wallace.â? Damned thief. He had gone and tattled, and now Ray had a Repo Man at his door.

"Is there something I can help you with? I assume you're not here for a check up."
 
Repo seemed dissappointed; though Ray was a big man and judging by his reaction, he was prepared to defend himself, but he wasn't a killer, he wasn't even a predator. Despite the loud clothing, there was something incredibly old-fashioned about Ray, and at the very least, Nathan could find some patience to appreciate the pleasantries.

"I'm not talking about scavenged organs," Nathan said, batting away the thinly veiled lie, his voice flat and frank, "I'm talking about stolen organs, GeneCo repossession property, specifically the occular implants that went missing two days ago."

He didn't need to bring up Graverobber; he knew that Ray would have already made the connection anyways, and there was no pretending that Ray wasn't aware of Nathan's by-night persona either. He suspected that anything Graverobber knew, Ray knew as well - so he would also know that as a Repo Man, it would be well within the law for Nathan to collect the stolen property - and that he could easily do so after they had been implanted.

"I'd really prefer we by-pass this part." he said, "And get to the part where you tell me where you're getting copies of my patient orders from, and why you're giving out my information."
 
Ray blinked slowly. â??I know nothing about stolen eyes, though now that I do, Iâ??ll certainly keep an ear to the ground for them.â? The thin, mirthless smile he gave was discolored from years and years of poor food supplemented by sugar-filled caffeine shots. Wallace would most likely recognize the lie, but Ray had a set script to follow. There was, after all, always the chance that his deception could hold under those harsh eyes. â??My coworkers would appreciate me not going blind on them. It would be quite the inconvenience to have to read everything to me.â?

The old man gestured with one leathery hand for Wallace to have a seat as he sat down in another, mismatched chair. The furniture here looked like it had been stolen from the trash, though every thing was as clean as the Wallace household, the various tears and worn patches had been darned up carefully. He leaned back with a slight groan, stress making his joints hut. Stress, or anger at his stupid tenant. When he saw that boy, he was going to wring his neck. Rayâ??s eyes narrowed at the word â??patientâ??, and he sat forward again.

â??Come now, Mr. Wallace. Weâ??re both adults, letâ??s not twist words,â? he said, leaning his weight onto his forearms propped up on his knees. â??They are your â??victimsâ?? or your â??targetsâ?? if you would prefer that. But not your patients.â? His voice was dripping with disgust. â??It is offensive to us doctors to use that word. Ignoring semantics, however, I get your â?¦ orders from a GeneCo employee with a nasty Glow habit.â? Irritably, Ray tugged off his thick, Coke-bottle-bottomed glasses to clean them with the hem of his shirt. â??Usually I pay that boy in other ways, but he wanted your information instead. He had me at a bit of a disadvantage.â?
 
Nathan had never been fond of playing games, and especially after the month he'd had, he found that his tolerance for it was quickly draining - but he didn't allow Repo to emerge from the neat, carefully-tailored shell of Nathan Wallace; it was easier to keep him down that day and he attributed it to the fact he had some sleep.

"I don't think you're in any position to try and take a moral high ground," Nathan said crisply, "And really, if you want to get into semantics - when it comes down to it, only one of us is breaking the law."

Nathan hated using that argument; GeneCo's organ repossession bill was a thin excuse to kill people for profit, but he was also aware that he was standing opposite to a man who had no qualms with lying outright - as far as Nathan was concerned, right then, using his position in GeneCo was a strategy. He could hate himself for it later, when he was sitting at home with a safe and sound Shilo, not worrying about the idea that someone might break in and try to exact some horrible revenge on her for what he did.

"I hope the new eyes are everything you want them to be," Nathan said finally, and the exhaustion was showing in his features again, and he turned away from Ray, heading for the door, "And that there's something for you in this city that's still worth seeing."
 
â??â??Civil disobedience becomes a sacred duty when the state has become lawless or corrupt,â?? Mr. Wallace,â? Ray responded calmly, unperturbed at having a Repo Man in his living room reminding him that, yes, he was breaking the law, and yes, Wallace was very aware of it.

Damned boy. He should have said â??noâ??, but the ability to see until he died had been so tempting; Graverobber had held out them out like fruit in the Garden. The man was much too old to waste time lying to himself: he knew part of his agreeing had been motivated by greed, by the hunger to see, but he was just as aware of his own usefulness. Besides, Helen took too much care of him already. Ray simply did not have the time to be a decrepit old man.

A cackle followed Nathan. â??My patients are always worth seeing, boy. When you get away from Rotti, do some honest work. Youâ??ve got the hands.â?

Graverobber was smart to stay away, spending his day frightening old ladies who walked past the dumpster he had set himself up on to flip through the tabloids. Well, that wasnâ??t what he had planned on doing, it was simply a consequence of being up before sunset. He did notice several women drag their children across the road before walking by.

He made especially sure to smirk slyly and wave to them.

Annoyingly, the day would pass like that: he was much too lazy to work, not that there was work he could do while it was still light. Oh, he could probably go and find a new coat, but he was fond of that one. Besides, it would be an excuse to terrorize Nathan, though after seeing that body, really, he didnâ??t need one.

There was the sound of a car in the distance, rare things these days. The rumor was that, after oil and the workers to drill it became scare and bodies became all the more common, those that could afford cars ran them on a rather morbid biofuel. GeneCo didnâ??t sell it directly, but one of their many sister corporations did; though, with Rotti pushing through legislation destroying prior anti-trust laws, one of their sister corporations sold anything. Graverobber found it hilarious. The pop of a car door opening, then a slam, and Graverobber continued to read, drawing up the paper to look even more interested in the drivel.

Staccato clicks came closer and suddenly there were well-formed, pale legs in spindly heels in his sight, right above the paper. â??You are â??Graverobber,â?? correct?â? The womanâ??s voice was cool and breathy with an affected British accent. She sounded as if she should be running one of those expensive phone sex lines. Graverobber grunted and glanced up. His visitor was in what might have started as a conservative suit set until she brought the hem up more than half a foot and added those heels. â??My employer â??â?? Rotti, if that uniform was anything, â?? â?? has a job for someone with your â?¦ skills.â?

â??I donâ??t do contract work,â? Graverobber said, turning a page in disinterest. Bad enough that he was already Amberâ??s dealer; he didnâ??t want to be on Rottiâ??s official payroll.

â??I was informed you would say that. Iâ??m prepared to offer you this much in currency.â? The woman pulled out a fat envelope from under her thin arm. Probably not an inch of her was the same as when she came out of the womb, from her lovely calves to her perfectly placed freckles. Manicured fingers pulled out a handful of coins, GeneCo script (the only thing that was good nowadays), but he could see more twinkling out at him.

Graverobber folded the paper up carelessly and dropped it on the lid next to him. â??Whatâ??s the job?â? Couldnâ??t be good: that was too much money for something simple. Barbie put away the money and gave a practiced white smile.

â??My employer would like you to recover some of his property from a GeneCo employee youâ??ve been â?¦ interacting with.â? Graverobber arched an eyebrow as she continued. â??A cadaver of a young woman.â?

It was a foolâ??s errand, Graverobber thought as he stared at the Wallace house rising in front of him, one of the many old Victorians on that street. He had been given a key (how kind of Rotti), the address, and the assurance that Nathan wouldnâ??t be home to bash his brains out. Graverobber had thought to bring along one empty syringe, dismantled and in an old case to keep it from stabbing him in his pocket. After all, Roâ??rather, â??The womanâ??s employerâ?? wanted the body, not the Zydrate. The damned building was just as colorless and gloomy as the inside, its wrought iron gate protesting with a soft creak as he opened it. With a hidden tunnel, Repo probably rarely went out the front door, especially not in his GeneCo uniform.

Inside was no better: it was quiet as a crypt, though that was something he had expected without Nathan there to nag him. His coat was missing, probably put into some color-coded drawer somewhere where it couldnâ??t infect the rest of the house. Graverobber slipped through the entry way and down that eerie hall. Like the rest of the Wallace residence, it might have been attractive with its handsome, dark wood and heavy furniture. The body was still at the end of the hall, behind what looked almost like a mirror. Graverobber glanced back, then turned and wandered into the main body of the house. There hadnâ??t exactly been time for a tour, and if Nathan was going to be out, well, that body certainly wasnâ??t going anywhere for awhile.
 
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