Chapter 1
Two weeks had passed since the night of Mag's farewell concert, referred to as "A night which will live in infamy" by Sanatarian Island's foremost periodical, the Daily Slice. Graverobber
paused for a moment from reading the paper's newest headline to wonder how exactly the Daily Slice was published. Graverobber knew Sanatarian Island better than the architects of
the city themselves. And confident in this knowledge, he could not recall having ever seen any building or space in the city which would lend itself as being any sort of recognizable form of
a newspaper office. For that matter, Graverobber could not think of one place the city over that resembled a printing press. And yet here he slouched, with a 28 page paper folded into
one hand, its inky folds supporting his chin, as the finger of an intelligent professor might do when faced with a mammoth of an astrophysical equation. Graverobber read the headline
once more and sighed as he realized that he might indeed be one of a handful of people in this entire city, inhabited by millions, who recognized the headline in front of him for what it
was a pitiful bastardization of a sincere remark made by a man long dead and mostly forgotten. He took his musings even further, pondering if anyone other than himself could even recall
the name of the man long dead, or if anyone could even recall the time in which he hadn't been dead, but real and living, and trying to ensure that the future would be nothing like the
world in which Graverobber currently stood.
So much for effort, thought the pale-faced creature of the night as he pulled himself out of his melancholy reverie. Graverobber pushed himself off the wall against which he leaned
and banished his intellectual musings to the back of his mind as he steeled himself for the work of the night ahead. Soon, he was again that delightful creature of the night, sauntering
down the dark alleyways and smirking to himself, as if he was the cat who'd just ate the canary and the cage.
Graverobber walked several blocks, to the alleyway behind a building that housed a nightly Zydrate Support group meeting. He had just enough time to non-chalantly slouch against
the ladder of a nearby fire-escape before the junkies exited en masse from the backdoor of the drab building. Graverobber pushed back the right flap of his coat to reveal the soft, vibrant
glow of several azure-colored vials strapped to his lower thigh. One or two junkies, obviously battling their destructive desires the entire time, were strong enough to resist the "glow" as
they turned the away from Graverobber and walked off into the city, as far away from temptation as they could. However, most of the junkies possessed no such strength. They flocked to
Graverobber, some barely controlling their shaking limbs and desperate, greedy eyes that roved over the whole alleyway but somehow always came back to rest upon vials of blue.
Graverobber straightened, and motioned for a line to form. When it did, he worked quickly and efficiently, taking the credits from the junkies with one hand as he held his loaded Zydrate
gun with the other, taking mere seconds to press the gun against the hollow of every junkie's collarbone and press the trigger. Graverobber saw their eyes roll back into their heads as
they stumbled off into the dark city, to find a place to float in their drug-induced stupor. In this way, Graverobber worked through the line quickly, his organized system breaking down
only when a broke, desperate junkie would try running her fingers through his tangled, multi-colored hair or dragging her fingers down the length of his thigh, attempting to barter with
the only goods she possessed. Graverobber would push the junkie off and away into the night to find a dealer who might accept her favors.
Tonight, Graverobber moved through the horde of junkies faster than usual, although he had managed to exhaust his current supply of Zydrate. With several hours left until dawn and
with a night's worth of credits clanking against each other in his pockets, he left the dank alleyway and began to wander aimlessly through the streets of Sanatarian Island. As he
wandered, his thoughts turned to the headline that he had read at the beginning of the night, and to that now infamous night. He'd taken a break from peddling that night, in order to
watch Blind Mag's last performance on the gargantuan GenTV's that floated above Sanatarian Square, as he'd always been partial to her soft soprano voice. From a beaten up trashcan,
he'd seen Amber's debacle of a performance and with amusement, watched her run, humiliated, from the stage. He'd also heard Mag's last song and he'd seen her fall to her death after
her final and only act of defiance against Rotti Largo. He'd then watched as Rotti denied his children and announced his unlikely heir. Graverobber had observed with interest when Shilo r
efused to fulfill the conditions of her inheritance, to kill her father, and when she'd left a dying Rotti Largo on the stage and marched, head held high, out of the doors of the theater.
Graverobber had been left with a sense of incredulity at Shilo's actions. A mere child, sequestered from the harsh world of Sanatarian Island, had stood up to the might of Rotti Largo, had
been offered the world and had turned her heel and refused it. Graverobber had been amazed then and was even more amazed as he aimlessly walked the streets. As his feet quickly
carried him along the sidewalk, Graverobber's thoughts turned from the girl's actions and to the actual girl herself. It had been two weeks since the Opera, and he wondered how she
was, and if she was even alive anymore. Amber Sweet had stepped up and had taken over GeneCo, as her father's will had not been signed and so legally was null and void.
Graverobber wondered if Amber would let Shilo slip back into the shadows or if she would view the kid as a loose end that needed to be taken care of. Even if Amber had allowed Shilo to
slip back into anonymity, Graverobber still wondered where Shilo had gone. He wondered if she had stayed sequestered in her house, lonely, but otherwise relatively safe, or if, in her
grief, the kid had gotten lost in the streets of Sanatarian Island. If she had run to the streets, she was almost certainly dead by now. Graverobber's face was devoid of real emotion but
his mind swarmed with it. He told himself that he wasn't especially attached to the Shilo kid, and that he didn't care, but there was something about her that had intrigued him, made him
curious, and that was something that even the hardened creature of the night could deny.
For a moment, Graverobber slid out of his thoughts and raised his head to look around him, only to find that he was standing right in front of the Wallace residence. The dark
Edwardian design made the house look foreboding in the first place, and the shadows from the night only added to the effect, but Graverobber took no notice as he pushed through the
front gate of the property and walked up the front walkway. It was only when he heard the front steps creak that Graverobber even realized what he was doing. It was then when
Graverobber paused and wondered exactly what it was that he WAS doing. Graverobber justified his actions to himself, chalking up his presence at the kid's home to his curiosity. He
went a step further, figuring that if he was already here, he might as well see if Shilo was alright, if she was even in the house. And so Graverobber walked the short distance to the
heavy, oaken front door. He whipped a small leather pouch from his pocket, fully prepared to pick the lock on the front door but was somewhat uneasily surprised when he found the door
already unlocked. Graverobber slowly stalked across the front parlor, his heavy footsteps quieted by the heavy carpet that draped the floor. He wondered where he should begin his
search, as the house was not especially small and the kid could be hidden away in any number of rooms. He figured that Shilo would have most likely have retreated back to her bedroom,
and after a quick exploration of the first floor, Graverobber concluded that the bedrooms must be located on the second floor. He quickly and quietly ascended the stairs, thankful for the
thick, maroon carpet under his feet. He jumped when the 14th stair up creaked, fearing discovery. He chastised himself, telling himself that even if someone found him here, why should
he be afraid of them? He didn't answer himself and continued his ascent without incident. Graverobber reached the landing of the second floor and looked both ways down a dark and
rather foreboding hallway. Graverobber spent most of his free time in cemeteries and yet he still admitted to himself that the countless holograms of someone he could only assume to be
Shilo's dead mother were creepy as fuck. Graverobber saw a small crack of dull light coming from the end of the left side of the hallway. He snuck down the hallway to the end to find a
solid oaken doorway with the heavy door barely cracked open.
Graverobber grasped the doorknob and began the door when he paused. Did he really want to open this door? Did he really want to see if Shilo was in there? There was no turning back
after he opened this door. If Shilo was in the room, Graverobber knew he would have the memory of whatever state she was in within his mind forever, whether she be dead or nearly
so. Graverobber realized that he hadn't thought of a scenario in which Shilo wasn't alright. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what he would do if he found her in a state less than ok. Could
he deal with it? Would he take it upon himself to help her? Could he afford to? He knew that if he opened the door, there was absolutely no turning back. At that moment, a remarkably
appropriate quote drifted into Graverobber's head, "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead." Graverobber silently chuckled, another quote from a man long dead and mostly forgotten. The
moment passed and he made his decision, slowly pushing the door all the way open.
Graverobber stared into the room, a feminine space, with lace everywhere, on the curtains, on the dressers, on the piano, and especially on the blankets that covered the four-poster,
canopy bed that took up the middle of the room. Graverobber saw a strangely human-shaped lump in the middle of the bed, buried in layers of blankets. His heart hammered, his mind
refusing to acknowledge the fact, as he carefully tiptoed, or as close to it in the boots he wore, over to the right side of the bed, closest to the door. He bent his knees and hunched
down, eyelevel with the edge of the bed, to find a pale head, covered with a long, black wig. Sure enough, it was the kid, sleeping. Graverobber, surveyed her face, and didn't especially
like what he saw there. Shilo may have been asleep, but it was far from an easy slumber, Graverobber could tell by the deep creases that had formed in her forehead. Graverobber also
noticed the deep purple bruises underneath her eyes and wondered if this was the first time Shilo had slept since the Opera. Resolved to let Shilo get what he assumed to be desperately
needed rest, Graverobber began to extend his legs to stand up, only to bump into the nightstand that stood beside Shilo's bed. His hand shot out to catch the wobbling piece of furniture,
but the damage had already been done. Graverobber's gut sank in horror as he saw Shilo's fragile eyelids begin to flutter open.