DISCLAIMER: Repo! The Genetic Opera belongs to Terrance Zdunich and Darren Smith. The Phantom of the Opera belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber and Gaston Leroux.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've noticed that I have a habit of including these rather lengthy author's notes at the beginning of every chapter of every story, and often that same chapter has an equally lengthy endnote. Just an observation (which has coincidentally made this author's note even longer. Go figure.)…

I know that it's been awhile since I've updated Hell Hath No Fury 3: Terminus, but I've hit a standstill. I have no idea how to proceed. I'll never quite a story so it will eventually continue. You have my word.

In the meantime, I've been posting some short little oneshots that randomly pop into my head, the most recent of which being a Hellraiser/Labyrinth crossover. As inspiration strikes, I take full advantage of it. This usually results in a ton of half-formed story ideas that are collecting figurative dust on my hard drive (hopefully, they'll get posted some day). This one has the makings of a longer story, maybe not as long as HHNF, but definitely longer than stories like If I Fell and In Tall Order.

This first year of college has been a time for discovery and I've found numerous random things to obsess over, two of them being The Phantom of the Opera and Repo! The Genetic Opera. I'm actually kinda surprised that no one's written any crossovers for these two (YAY! I'm original!), especially seeing that Sarah Brightman, who played Blind Mag in Repo!, played Christine in the original Broadway production of Phantom (ironically though, Mag will not make an appearance in this story). When I first saw Repo!, I immediately drew parallels between Erik the Phantom and everybody's favorite face-stealing sex addict, Pavi Largo (damn all those years of honors English classes), the most prominent of which being their physical appearances: dark hair, well-dressed, disfigured faces covered with "masks." They're also opera buffs with a taste for murder. But after that, the similarities stop and the two men become polar opposites. Pavi oozes confidence and charisma, turning his disfigurement into his defining feature. He's vain and arrogant, but charming enough to have lured countless women into his bed. Erik lurks in the shadows, hiding his disfigurement from the world. He's reclusive and introverted, never knowing love (or anything like it) and the pleasures that come with it, having been scorned by the only woman he ever loved. What a perfect pair, Pavi and Erik…

If you haven't already guessed it, this is going to be a slash fic, something that's been long overdue for me. Of course there's Adrian and Dimitri in HHNF, but it's about time I do a story focusing on a same-sex relationship (and one longer and more in depth than If I Fell). This seemed like the perfect opportunity (and I deeply love both Erik and Pavi). My beloved Paviche has a rather heavy Italian accent so bear with me. I've done accents before; they're kind of annoying, but necessary to properly portraying a being said, I present to you…

The Phantom of the Genetic Opera

Chapter 1: After the Opera

Pavi sat before the vanity mirror, admiring his latest face half-heartedly. It wasn't that the face wasn't perfect, quite the contrary. The middle Largo child just had a lot on his mind. It had been a few weeks since his father's death and so much had changed. He and his siblings were still living in luxury, but who knew how much longer that would last. Amber was doing a terrible job at running GeneCo, using her new position of power as an excuse to receive free surgeries and fuel her growing zydrate addiction. Her addiction had always been bad, but in the few weeks that she'd been in charge it had only gotten worse. She spent most of her time in a zydrate-induced haze. Nothing was getting accomplished. With the death of Nathan Wallace organ repossessions had come to a standstill. The grave robbers were running rampant throughout the cemeteries of Sanitarium Isle. Things needed to change, and soon, before everything went to shit.

Deep down, Pavi missed his father, though he'd never admit it to a soul. At least things made sense when he was in charge. His whore of a sister didn't deserve their father's life's work, maybe none of them did. He'd come to realize that in recent weeks. If Luigi had taken over, countless innocent people would be dead. Pavi himself would've just been given more leeway for his face-stealing. Shilo had fled, wanting nothing to do with the powerful biorepository Rotti wanted to leave her. Maybe she would be doing a better job than Amber was. Hell, anybody could probably do a better job than Amber. Pavi had undergone a drastic overhaul and no one noticed it more than the GENterns. It had been several weeks since he'd taken a single one of them to bed with him and they'd begun to mourn his absence. But Pavi could've cared less. His interest in them had dwindled. He'd turned over a new leaf and was looking for something he couldn't find in their shallow embrace.

"Paviche."

Pavi started at the sound of his name.

"Very-a funny, fratello," he replied, thinking that Luigi was fucking with him.

Silence, and then a soft, musical chuckle. Definitely not Luigi, but the voice held some familiarity to the youngest of Rotti Largo's sons. He'd heard that same voice singing softly in the dead of night, echoing from some distant location whose origin he couldn't pinpoint; a voice filled with passion and dedication that was almost overwhelming to experience. Pavi spun around, feeling eyes at the back of his head. An unseen pair of eyes watched on.

"I've-a heard your voice before, singing in-a the dark," Pavi stammered, nervous that someone had such close access to him yet he could not see the person. "It's-a rather lovely."

More melodic laughter, not unlike the girlish giggling of the infatuated young women that frequently followed Pavi.

"Where-a are you?" Pavi asked, circling the lavish bedroom, his head on a swivel. His nervousness was quickly escalating toward panic, but his curiosity kept him from calling for the GeneCops. Part of him longed to meet the talented stranger who serenaded him in his sleep.

"Flattering child, you shall know me

See why in shadows I hide.

Look at your face in the mirror!

I am there inside!"

Pavi spun to face his reflection in a full-length mirror by the bed just as the lights in the room went out, the only illumination the flickering flames of the candles on the vanity. Pavi involuntarily jumped backwards with a silent scream as his reflection was replaced with that of another. The gold-framed mirror had hung on that wall for as long as Pavi could remember, but he had never thought of the possibility that, as he stood before it preening himself, someone else was looking back from the other side.

A man peered back at Pavi, a well-dressed, dark-haired man. A white mask covered half of his face, but the visible part was quite handsome. Pavi hesitantly approached the mirror, a single shaking hand outstretched before him. He expected to feel cold glass beneath his fingertips, but the stranger had mirrored his movements and instead Pavi's fingers touched the warm black leather of the man's gloves. The situation had become too much to handle. As Pavi lost consciousness, he just made out the stranger lunging forward to catch him before he could fall to the ground.

-,-'-

Pavi awoke in the wee hours of the morning feeling groggy and disoriented. He was lying in his bed fully clothed and had no recollection of how he had gotten there. He sat up and ran a hand through his tousled black hair. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and shuffled over to the mirror yawning. He opened his eyes and looked at his reflection. He started as the events of last night came crashing home. The mirror, there had been a man in the mirror, a man who'd been watching him for who knows how long. That beautiful voice…must have been a strange dream.

He undressed and returned to his bed, dismissing his thoughts of the stranger. As he rearranged the covers, he found a single red rose amongst the tangled bedding. Tied to its stem with a length of black ribbon was a small note baring only two letters, initials it seemed: "O.G." He seized the flower from the sheets and tossed it into a corner in fear. He turned back to the mirror, expecting to see that partially-masked countenance staring back at him, but all he saw was a frightened looking Italian in nothing but black satin undershorts, wide eyes staring back through holes in a dead woman's face. Pavi found an old blanket and, by means of a staple gun, affixed it to the wall so it covered the mirror. His work down, he clambered back into bed and fell into an uneasy sleep.