Running, running. That's what life consisted of. Running to work. Running during work. Fleeing to the safety of home at night. But what happened when home wasn't safe anymore?
More running.
She had run to the top of a building, all the way up to the roof. But she had been followed the whole way. She thought she had lost him at one point, but he appeared once again. Somehow he always found her.
Right, back to the roof. She was sliding down as she made her way around the slanted roof, trying to escape. She was pretty high up, she realized as she glanced at the ground. Even several stories up, she could hear the frightening footsteps of the repo-man.
She glanced back, and jumped. With that fatal movement she fell. The repo-man attempted to reach out.
No, not to save her. To attempt retrieving the organs with no trauma.
As the body hit the ground, the repo-man swore. He had lost that one, but he would lose no more. Though it was easy to track the organs with the barcode system, the hosts of the organs still ran. They had no that they would be tracked. Always tracked.
What was the point of running anyway?
He never ran to work. Never while he worked. Never back home.
Why run?
He walked down to the floor level and outside. It was night. No one was around. He picked up the body to take it. He'd work on it later. First he had to call the cleanup crew. They were excellent at running. It's what they did all day long.
He didn't see the point.
After placing the call, he stepped into the mists once more to resume his work.
