Alternatively titled: "With a Little Help From My Friends." -or- "A Leg Up."

Author: Semenkhare
Fandom: Repo! The Genetic Opera
Summary: Seriously injured in a raid gone wrong, Graverobber faces some tough choices.
Author's Notes: I'm not sure if this is a horror or a comedy, but whatever it is, it's really fucking weird. Terrance Zdunich, if you are reading this, I am SO sorry.
This story is dedicated to lemonee_wonder, who encouraged me to write it, and put up with me speculating about the weirder aspects of it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Repo! The Genetic Opera. No profit is being made from this.

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The night began, as most do. Humming a little ditty to himself (the lyrics of which were too filthy, even for him), Graverobber settled in for a good few hours of Zydrate harvesting before having to go and administer to the junkies in the alley. He'd discovered the crypt the night before, and had been delighted to find that most of the bodies contained inside were at prime point in the Zydrate-producing cycle: not too ripe, but not dried out either. If he could get in a few solid hours tonight, before some other robber discovered the place, then he'd likely have enough Zydrate to keep him in business for months.

But as he hefted the lid off the first grave, he discovered just why this particular graveyard had gone untouched for so long. A shrill alarm rang out over the silent yard and he knew he was, in a word, boned. No pun intended.

Gathering up his stash and tools, he made a mad dash in the direction of the exit. From behind him he could hear the heavy boots of the GENEcops as they stomped through the graveyard, looking for him. He wasn't afraid, per se; after all, he was known to bring the GENEcops down on him deliberately when he thought things were a little slow. But that was different. If it was one of those nights, then he'd have an escape route and a hiding place all planned out, and he'd be back at the hideout or failing that, the Dumpster du jour by morning. He'd be in control of the situation And if there was anything Graverobber hated and feared, it was not being in control. It had only happened once before in his adult life; that had been...that was when...

No. Now was not the time to let old memories surface. Now was the time to survive. He ducked behind a crumbling gravestone as one of the 'cops came a little close for comfort, then continued on his way. The hole he'd slithered through to get in was beside the main gate; a chasm created when the huge stone wall's foundations had started to give way. For a man of Graverobber's size, it was a tight fit, and he'd had to push hard to get himself through. That had been under good conditions. Now, with 'cops chasing him, would he be able to get through? There was nothing for it: he'd just have to. He'd be damned if he'd let Amber Sweet hang his head on her wall. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Thirty feet, twenty feet, fifteen, ten... The hole was getting closer. Sheer adrenalin surged through him and he barrelled into the pit, choking on a mouthful of dirt. The wallls closed claustrophobically around him, but he forced himself to focus. Just focus. Just get out of there. Don't panic.

He was never so glad to see the everpresent light of the GENEco billboards than he was as he came up, scrabbling for purchase against the rough cobblestone street. He hoisted his lower body out of the hole as the main gait beside him opened. Without waiting to see what emerged, he took off running. Just as he thought he might pull off another dashing escape, he heard something go whizzing past his ear. A second later, a white-hot bolt of agony lodged itself in his right leg

Gasping and cursing, Graverobber forced himself to continue. Bloodloss and shock was a risk, but to stop would be to get caught by GENEcops, which would mean an almost certain, definitely unpleasant death . If he could just hold on long enough to get to the hideout...just a little farther..