Disclaimer: I don't own the fabulous world of Repo! The Genetic Opera. Save the original charactors, all this belongs to Mr. Zdunich and the gang.

Author Note: If you read this, take a second of your time to R&R. It'll be much appreciated.

The night was hot and humid. Loud music played in an underground rock club down the road, thumping in tune with the flickering streetlight. He leaned against the brick wall, head bowed and arms crossed. It was late, and she'd promised to meet him a half hour ago.

Thunk. Thunk. Heavy boots on concrete melded in with the other sounds of nighttime in the city. He looked up. Emilie was striding forward quickly, a harried expression on her face. With a huff she leaned next to him on the wall.

"Here," she said, slipping a piece of paper into the crease of his arm.

He looked at her coldly. "You're late again."

"The subway broke down. Third time this month. I should call someone."

He ignored her comment and opened up the dirty piece of notebook paper. Emilie's handwriting was scrawled, barely legible. He suspected that she'd remembered the date at the last minute and copied the info he needed from the coroner's books on the slick. But that was alright-he wouldn't complain. He'd only give her weak Zydrate to compensate for his wasted time.

Randolph Packer, 42; died Wednesday, August the 2nd; service at 8:00 am Saturday, Bishop Hall Church Cemetery.

Elisa Devons, 21; died Friday, August the 4th; service at 9:30 am Saturday, Bishop Hall Church Cemetery.

The list continued with other deaths, some recent, some not. Emilie wasn't punctual, but at least she was accurate.

"Thank you." Despite the circumstances, he could at least pretend to be a gentleman. He handed her a vial of Z.

Emilie accepted her payment, hesitated for a second, then smiled coyly. "So, Mr. Mysterious…when will I get a real name and number?"

He almost ignored her. Instead, he gave her a stony look and said, not for the first time, "Graverobber. My name is Graverobber."

Without a second glance he turned on his heel and walked away.

My name is Graverobber. It might as well have been true. He'd worked hard to try and forget his given name. It hadn't worked, but Graverobber was an excellent liar. Even to himself.

The street was dank and seedy, but Graverobber still enjoyed his time here. The lights from the neon signs glowed like a dream, and he didn't have to hide his face. Patrol cars never came to this part of the city, and no one would report him; they were almost all his customers, and he was far too valuable to trade in for reward money.

Graverobber passed a mumbling junkie on the sidewalk and grabbed his wrist. The little punk had most likely stole the expensive watch that was there; no way had someone with green spikes on his head and a Z-glow in the eyes personally bought a Rolex. Graverobber checked the time- 10:00 pm. He still had an hour or two to kill before work, and hadn't slept since two o'clock the day before. Graverobber dropped the kid's wrist, who hadn't even noticed his presence, and made a detour down the alley a few feet away. A roomy dumpster was there, a familiar place where he was used to taking a quick nap before a job.

"Knock, knock," he said, tapping the green top with the flat of his hand. When you were in his line of work, you became accustomed to talking with inanimate objects, and yourself.

"Who's there?" he muttered, opening dumpster lid. The smell hit him like-

"A pile of fucking garbage," he answered himself.

Graverobber pulled a vial of Z from his pocket and shined it over the dumpster to check for broken glass, stray animals, or, possibly, another human.

"Score…" he smiled. A girl was lying on the pile of trash- facedown, lifeless, and looking newly dead. Fresh Z.

Graverobber pulled out his Zydrate gun and spun it once in his hand, whistling a cowboy dirge.

"This dumpster ain't big enough for the both of us, little lady."

He jumped in, landing next to the body with a thud. He turned the girl over, took a look at her face, and felt his stomach drop.

"…kid?"

Shilo was pale as usual, an innocent and almost thoughtful look on her face. One thing was different about the kid, though, and that was her hair. It was thicker looking, a little wavy, and came just below her ears, poking out in all directions.

"Stupid kid…" Graverobber muttered, almost sadly. Shilo Wallace had been the topic of a lot of hype for weeks; her face had been everywhere. After a while, though, no one had heard anything from her, and the story slowly moved to the backburner. Graverobber had thought she'd left the city and ran as far away as she could. After all, he'd done the same thing in a similar situation, many years ago. But he'd never expected to find her dead in a dumpster.

"Oh well…a professional is never wasteful."

Graverobber shook his head once, then pressed the needle to Shilo's skin.

With a twitch and a gasp, the kid's eyes flew open. Graverobber almost dropped the Zydrate gun.

"Grave …." Shilo's lashes fluttered, and she went limp.

Graverobber was still for a moment, then lowered his ear to the kid's chest. She was breathing. Now was the hard part. Graverobber swallowed. She was alive. Could he leave her in this dumpster and go on with his business like nothing had happened? Had he stifled his conscience enough over the years for this? Did she even need him? After all, no one had been there to help him at her age, and he'd turned out just fine. When he had to do unimaginable things, just for food, he survived. Alone, he survived….

Shilo was almost weightless when Graverobber hoisted her over his shoulder. With a small grunt he jumped out of the dumpster, and headed back down the alley.