Her song never changes, the drug dance is monotonous as well, and I feel my self cringe hearing her slightly breathy voice calling to me from the entrance of my alley. "Graverobber, Graverobber sometimes I wonder why I even bother." I swallow hard to fight the urge to slap that coy superiority off her face, the urge to try and choke it out of her voice.

"You bother because you're a scalpel slut Amber, just like all the others, and my Z is the best, not even pharmaceutical grade is better then what I sling." I give her my best wry smile, and bite back the loathing in my voice. I almost sound cheerful. Before she can continue the exchange I add. "Thats why you need me as well, Miss sweet. So, can we hurry this up I have things to do."

The soles of my boots echo off the bricks as I hop off the lid of the dumpster. I don't bother to watch Amber and her leather collar minions approach, instead I am digging in my pocket for my gun, and slipping a glowing vial of Z from the holster I fashioned to hold my supply. The sound of her boots get closer then stop just as I get the vial in, the gun is charged now and ready.

I look up just in time to see her new, too perfect lips pout. "It would be wise to play the game by my rules you know, observe the niceties and little rituals we share Graverobber. One word and I can bring the Gencops down on you faster then you can scream 'graves'."

I close the small space between us with one step, looking down into her beautiful, surgical enhanced face. She disgusts me, and she stirs me. I lied when I called her just a scalpel slut like all the others, there is no greater scalpel slut then Amber. Utterly lost to the lie of surgical perfection, she is as ugly on the inside as she is beautiful on the out side. Behind her eyes there is nothing, she is already dead, has been since before I knew her.

I have an affinity with the dead, always have. But in the darker corners of my heart and soul the dead terrify and repulse me. They make me feel my mortality, and my isolation. They do not feel me, are not drawn to me as I am to them, they cannot share a conversation or anything else with me. I can only take from them. Amber is my perfect corpse, the only one who sees me, feels me, and cares that I exist. Of course she only cares because I am her supply of Z, but no relationship is perfect.

"Call them Amber. Send me to my grave for my crimes, it will hurt you more then it could ever hurt me." I let my hand trace her jaw, the other tightens around the drug gun. I see the truth of my words flit across her face, and I smile. "No more threats. You need this..." My voice is soft and sensual as I drag the tip of the gun across her lower lip. "The zydrate the surgeons use doesn't do it any more does it?" her head shakes and she licks her lips, eyes wide staring into mine. "What you need is right here, and only I have it. It's clean...It's clear...it's pure...it's rare..." my voice is only a whisper, with what some might call a hint of gravel in it. "It will take you there...only I can take you there." I don't know what I would have said next because her perfect, surgeon gifted lips took mine.

She is a savage little thing, bitting and clinging to me. She whimpers into my mouth as I use my one free hand to roughly grab the one of hers that snaked its way under my coat and shirt to my bare skin, her nails taking pieces. My other hand still holding the gun, holds her head in place as I give her back the savagery she offered me. Bruising and gnawing at her mouth till I taste just a hint of copper and salt, not sure which of us is bleeding, maybe we both are.

I move the hand holding her head in place for the kiss, and drag the tip of the Z-gun down her neck, then down over her shoulder, then the curve of her breast because there is not room enough between us to bring it down her front. Amber feels like she is trying to crawl inside of me the way she is pressing into me, and my body is aching for so much more then this assault of lips. My mind runs frantic images of the ways I want to take her, and I do the only thing I can do right now to end this agony. I keep moving the gun lower, as I back her against a wall hard. The force knocks her breath into me and I suck it in, giving a soft moan after. I use one of my knees to roughly nudge her legs apart, and her hips grind against me like a question hanging unanswered in the air.

My breathing is ragged and fast. I fight past the burning lust, past the aching need, my hand with the gun now tracing up her thigh. She jerks her hand out of my other hand, and forces it between us. My gun finds the sweetest spot, that tender crease where thigh becomes hip and then becomes her soft downy sex. Her hand slides over the fabric covered hardness of my cock just as I pull the trigger, the gun sparks, and she gives the sweetest moan breaking the kiss. Her body goes limp slowly, as she whispers. "I can't feel nothing at all."

I turn my head and look at her collared boy toys, and say "Miss Sweet is ready for surgery." I push off the wall and away from Amber, not bothering to look to see if she falls. I don't hear a thud as I begin to walk away, but I do hear the sound of scrabbling feet as one of the boy toys rushes to her. The other holds out a coin, loaded with my fee, the number flashing dimly across its face. I take it and tuck it into my pocket and keep walking, trying to push down the loathing, and sorrow. I fucking hate Amber Sweet...and I miss her already.