A/N:
Don't get all excited that I'm FINALLY back ;) I'm technically not, actually. I really just had this stupid idea stuck in my head and had to write it. It's a two-shot so far about Repo! so I just wanted to post that and be done with it. Nothing else is getting published/updated so far and I'm really sorry about that. Things have been... Well... Busy, I suppose.
BUT NEVER FEAR! I'll be back to updating six times a day in two or three weeks. I just need time to regain some traction and then I'll be updating so often that everyone will unfavorite me just to stop getting emails :) -by the way, please don't unfavorite me. Favorites make me a happy Susie-
ALSO: I DON'T OWN REPO!
"What is this?" I heard as I took my seat, smiling gently at Amber when she sat upright to allow me to sit beside her. While Amber Sweet didn't exactly like me, she knew better than to cross me. I was her emergency go-to surgeon. I put her pieces together whenever she went too far. If she annoyed me, she would have to find someone else who invariably didn't know her bone structure like I did. After all, her original face wasn't very different from mine.
My father's henchgirls had taken me from my research without an explanation but I knew why almost immediately. The file folder one of them deposited onto my father's desk was familiar to me. In it was the latest scandal, images that the press wouldn't hesitate to kill to get their paws on.
Rotti Largo, a man I hadn't called 'Daddy' in years, opened the file's cover, flipping the folder around to examine the pictures. I watched from the edge of my seat as he first looked up at Luigi.
"You disgust me," he reminded him. Luigi looked properly shamefaced but I knew that, when his temper struck next, he wouldn't think of the consequences of his actions.
Next must have been a picture of Amber. When Rotti looked at her, she gave a careful disregard for him, smoothing her hair back. She leaned against the armrest and her feet rested on my lap. I pushed her legs off of me tiredly and only raised an eyebrow when she glared at me.
Pavi looked up from his mirror to give our father a thumbs-up when Rotti's gaze landed on him. A scowl grew on our father's face before he briefly glanced down to see if there were any more photographs. There wasn't. I was always more careful with my indiscretions, however few they were. I was the oldest, so I tried to be a good role model for my younger siblings. I became a doctor for that reason. I didn't kill like Luigi. I never let myself get hooked on Street-Z, unlike Amber. And I have never stolen a face. It was my job to heal, something that Rotti appreciated. Blind Mag was GeneCo's voice, I was it's heart.
The elevator dinged and I felt terribly sorry for whoever was soon to approach us. My father was not in a good mood and, if the man or woman brought less than excellent news, he was sure to leave in a body bag.
I turned my head briefly and frowned sadly. I recognized him: Jonathon Erstwall. He was one of the doctors who had been placed in charge of my education once I made it clear to my father that I wanted to work at GeneCo. He was a nice enough man and fairly good at his job. More importantly, he was one of the physicians directly responsible for my father's ongoing good health. If he was here, it couldn't be good news.
Jonathon jumped as the henchgirls readied their guns. He hastened into the room, his eyes finding me quickly. I lowered my eyes and he began to shake. He stopped in front of my father's desk, depositing a clipboard onto the dark wood.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Largo," he said, his voice unsteady. "I'm afraid- I'm afraid it's terminal."
Rotti looked over the prognosis report, his face revealing nothing.
"You don't have much time," Jonathon continued. "It's spreading rapidly."
The mask on my father's face broke. His features became overcame with first sadness then a terrible anger. He slammed the clipboard onto the desk and the henchgirl to his left, Oleandre (A/N: I got the name from nerium oleander. The other henchgirl's name is from cicuta virosa. Both are highly poisonous plants), drew a pistol and fired a single shot. Jonathon was dead before he hit the floor. I averted my eyes as his blood spread across the floor towards my black heels.
"Father," I said quietly, forcing myself to look at him. "Shall I return to the Research Division?"
Rotti looked at me, a glare in his hardened eyes before his features softened, remembering that I was his favorite. Not to mention that my research was primarily searching for his cure.
I hadn't seen the exact prognosis but I knew that my father was dying. Based on the spread that had already taken place, if I didn't find a cure or at least a temporary solution, he would die within the week. I had had patients die on me before, none had been a relative. There had only been one patient I had even known, and I was far too young to treat her. My mother.
Her name was Samantha. She met my father through business, the then lover of one of the minor surgeons in my father's employ. They met and, much to the surgeon's distress, fell in love. They were married and soon had me.
Samantha Largo, who had been the heart of GeneCo before I took up the mantle, grew frail. After I was born, she and my father wanted to have another child but each pregnancy would fail. After three miscarriages in quick succession, her health had suffered too much. She passed away when I was just four years old.
It was in mourning for my mother's death that Rotti found Rosalina. According to some, he was grief stricken, but I think that, somewhere in his heart, he did love her. They were married when I was five and soon had three children: Luigi, Paviche, and Carmela. Rosalina was a good mother, I think, at least to her own children. I wasn't exactly neglected, but I was the proof that there was a woman before her. When Luigi was born, I was delicately handed off to a nursemaid, who soon passed me to a governess, who soon arranged for me to be put under a medical internship within GeneCo. I was put through the paces, my course in life set by my wish to better others' lives as a doctor.
Rosalina was the first patient I ever had full responsibility over. That meant that I spared some poor doctor his or her life when I was forced to report that she had become a victim to pancreatic cancer. It had already begun metastasis when it was discovered. It was with a heavy conscience that I declared the cancer terminal. It was too far spread, even with the technological advances made in recent decades.
I was seventeen years old when she died.
Her children never were the same. They hadn't exactly been normal before, but they grew out of hand. It was if they too were cancerous, affecting and killing everything close to them. Luigi, at twelve, became enraged and violent. His first murder took place just a year later. Paviche, who was nine when his mother died, soon forgot her. He was sucked into cosmetic surgery. Unfortunately for him, too many surgeries left his face horribly scarred. Because of that, he stole his first face when he was fifteen. Carmela was the worst. She had been her mother's favorite and Rosalina's death broke something inside of her. She became increasingly territorial and defensive. She only began aspirations to become a singer seeing how successful Blind Mag was. That persistence led her to change her name when she was sixteen.
Three years after Rosalina died, I got tired of my younger siblings behavior. I changed my name and cut all ties to GeneCo. I left the Largo Estate and got a job as a doctor at the Central Sanitarium Hospital. My coworkers had been respectable healers, unlike the Genterns and surGens often advertised as the brunt of GeneCo's workforce. I paid my own bills, bought my own clothing, and kept my own company. And I was happier than I had been in years.
I stayed at the CSH for almost six years. I had friends there. The patients were all decent people except for the occasional scalpel slut that came begging for the Zydrate the hospital was licensed to utilize for its more invasive procedures.
Everything changed when I was twenty-six years old.
I had been walking home from the hospital after a long shift. I had to walk through a debatably sketchy part of town to get to my small house. I didn't mind the walk though; it was only eight or nine blocks and after nearly six years I was used to walking home each day at whatever time it happened to be when I got off. This particular day, though, it was very late. As per usual, there were a few people strewn on the sidewalk- dead or sleeping, I couldn't tell- but I continued on.
I passed a branch of the Zydrate Support Network and was forced to stop short.
There was a familiar figure in the streets. I didn't exactly know him- after all, who did?- but I knew who he was. He was the necromerchant, the Graverobber. A teenaged boy, probably fifteen or sixteen, was at his side. I knew who he was as well. He was the next generation of submarket profiteers, an apprentice. Graverobber would teach the boy everything he knew and, assuming he wasn't dead, after retiring would get a cut of everything the kid made off of the streets.
More importantly than the boy, or the scalpel sluts, or the Z-addicts, was the equally young girl that didn't hesitate to push the older girls aside for her hit.
Anger welled up inside of me at the irresponsibility of everyone that had contributed to this scene. I stalked closer and closer to the flock of Z-addicts and halted barely a yard before the necromerchant.
"Carmela Isabella Largo," I called with a deadly calm. She paused and gave me a smile that dripped condescension and disinterest. Luckily, it didn't exude the euphoric calm created by the glow. "Don't look at me like that. You're going home. Now."
I glared up at the Graverobber before glancing at the boy with him.
"How often?" I asked, forcing my voice to be less volatile.
"Oh, relax, sis. It's just Z," Carmela drawled.
"How. Often." I repeated. The Graverobber just shrugged, an easy smile on his face.
"Just two or three," he assured me smoothly. "Now, I have some... business to attend to. Ladies," he bowed his head, giving me that smile once more before disappearing into the shadows, the Z-addicts trailing after him. Carmela moved to follow but I had a grip on her arm.
"Let me go!" she protested, her voice irritatingly high.
"No," I said simply and began dragging her out of the alley. "Does Father know that you've snuck out of the mansion? I doubt he's allowing this ventures."
"What Daddy doesn't know won't hurt him," she taunted. "And what do you care? You haven't been 'home' in ages!"
"No, I haven't. But I haven't been getting hooked on narcotics either!"
"I'm not hooked," she defended brashly.
"Carmela, I have studied the effects of Z on a human body. The first hit is a high but you get terribly sick after. The second is the same high without the sickness afterwards. But the third, the third isn't nearly as strong feeling. You need more and more to get the same numb. That's why its such a lucrative drug. That's where the addiction starts. And that's where you are."
"Stop calling me that!" she growled. "Now let me go! You're hurting my wrist."
"No, I'm not."
Once we were closer to my home, I flicked open my phone, asking for a number I thought I would never dial again.
After a few moments, Rotti Largo's face appeared over my wrist.
"Amelia?" His voice was surprised and I let a wry smile appear on my face.
"Hello, Father. I need you to send a car to 92 Hren Boulevard. I found your youngest on my way home from work."
"Carmela? Is she okay?" Concern, but also weariness, now colored his the familiar voice. I glanced at Carmela and she glared back.
"I'm fine," she said bitingly. "I was fine, anyway."
"She's alright," I responded. "We're on the way to my place."
"Someone is on their way," Rotti said after a long pause. The way he said 'someone' made me wonder if he sent a single driver or a dozen Gencops.
The car was waiting for us when I finished dragged Carmela along. Much to my irritation, one of my father's henchgirls, Virosa, accompanied the driver and it was made clear that I was to return home with Carmela. I was given the time to pack a few things but was soon whisked back to the Largo Mansion. For good.
In the present, Rotti nodded his head. I got to my feet, glancing at the henchgirls. Carefully avoiding the remains of Jonathon Erstwall, I made my way towards the elevator. Halfway there, I paused, looking back at my three siblings.
"Behave yourselves, you three," I ordered. "We can't deal with negative press now. It'll only create more problems when we announce Father's illness."
"Sure thing, sis," Luigi sneered, toying with a dagger he had retrieved from his pocket. Pavi only smiled at me, his eyes shining out from the flesh that had once belonged to a nameless scalpel slut.
"I will not let you down, sorella-dear," he said. I couldn't tell if he was mocking me or not. At least Amber was kind enough to scoff for all of us to hear.
I sighed, leaning away from the microscope.
"Nothing is working," I reported quietly, frustration coloring my voice. The doctor charged with assisting my research, Jamie, looked up from where she was working, mixing new concoctions for the next batch of tests. I glanced up at her, shaking my head. "Nothing. No change. The cells just won't stop falling apart... I've just never seen anything like this. I've tried everything I know. It behaves like a blood disease, but is, in essence, a...-"
"A what?"
"A cancer," I said, a new excitement rising. There might be a cure! "A blood cancer."
"Like leukemia?" Jamie asked questioningly. I shook my head, fetching the latest prognosis. I scanned the list of symptoms and reactions to various treatments.
"Close. Leukemia creates abnormal white blood cells, which don't work right, don't stop growing when they should, and crowd out normal and healthy blood cells. Rotti has a reasonably average white blood cell count, maybe a tad high but definitely within normal levels. What is being affected is his white blood cells and his red blood cells. Unlike some forms of anemia, they are perfectly shaped. There are just way too many. This is- This explains nearly everything: the blood clots, the hyperviscosity, the splenomagaly, dizziness, right down to the fatigue and the headaches! Well, not exactly everything but-"
"What is it?"
"A rare chronic disease called polycythemia vera. The bone marrow overproduces red blood cells, and, occasionally, too many white blood and platelet cells. They thicken the blood, forcing the heart to work harder to pump it to the extremities and makes it extremely difficult to get through the narrower veins and arteries. But that's not what's killing him."
"Then what is?" Jamie asked. I could tell that she was getting impatient, but I was getting to that.
"Multiple Myeloma," I reported, passing her the clipboard to get it out of my hands. "It explains the rest of the symptoms: increased thirst, elevated creatinine, lytic lesions, hypocalcaemia. The polycythemia vera has been masking the anemia caused by multiple myeloma. If I'm right, we need to start treatment immediately. If we don't... He might need half a dozen organ transplants, and that's if he's alive to get them."
A/N:
By the way, not doing this one for any credit or recognition so I'm uploading both parts of the two-shot tonight. Enjoy!
^.^ Susie ^.^