Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Repo!verse being characters and the likes. These two characters just happen to be my own and AF's. The rest belongs to Terrance Zdunich and Darren Smith.
Author's Note: Yep, this is the same mysterious woman from 'Fifteen'. Very few of you may know who she is. Keyword being very few. xD
Her hands rested beneath her chin with a platonic expression cast upon her face. Bony knees were bent as her body was hunched forward in a crouched position. She peered over the roof top's edge in boredom. There seemed to be nothing extraordinary or irregular happening at that particular moment. Nothing ever changes. Repetition was Sanitarium Island's true gift or so it seemed to the young woman. It was all devastatingly typical. A lone, cerulean orb traced the figures that staggered out of the alleyway. Something interrupted this daily trend.
"Why, hello…" She whispered to herself, both amusement and surprise lingered in her tone of voice.
The moon, as always, was round and full. Its luminous rays shed some light on the scene below, casting eerie shadows along the way. A young woman dashed down the dark street. In an attempt to hide herself, she crouched between dented trash cans. Now, that wasn't too bright of her, considering the fact that the delinquent could be easily spotted. The victim realized this as she ran up and down like a confused animal. Finally, she settled on diving into the dumpster.
The grave robber arched a brow before scowling. That's my dumpster… First off, one probably wonders how the said robber knew the delinquent's gender. Simple, she could pick up on the curves of the body although other physical features were muted by the shadows. The blond shifted her position on the rooftop, crossing her legs now as she sat on the edge. The night became a little more interesting for once. It's like television, but through a live feed. She mused, tapping her fingers along her thighs.
Time dragged on. It felt like hours to the peddler. In reality, it was only a matter of minutes. Ten, to be exact. Another figure drifted onto the stage. It was either a Repo Man or Woman. She could assume such thanks to the intricate costume the legal assassin wore. A flowing cape was reminiscent of a butterfly's wings. More like a bat. The sarcasm rose from her chest. A gleaming weapon resided in the right fist, presumably a scalpel or a knife. If only the dealer had brought popcorn along with her for this instance.
The assassin twirled in a circle, stalking the alley. Footsteps tapped on the paved ground. Closer and closer until they reached the dumpster. For a second, the peddler almost shut her lone orb, the other concealed by an eye patch and flop of bangs. It was a good thing that she decided against that seemingly common reflex. With a vigorous thrust, the Repo Man lifted lid, leaving it to bang against the brick wall. Leaning forward in anticipation, the blond clamped her hands on the edge of the rooftop. There was the delinquent, cowering for her very life. Neither the Repo Man nor the Zydrate Peddler felt an ounce of pity. There was no time or use for that type of human expression.
She was well aware of the process by now. It was fifteen steps that these human beings repeated in an almost tedious manner. She had come into quick terms with the realization that people never changed. This was the bittersweet truth of it all. If only I understood all that I saw. Perhaps she would at the end of the ridiculous charade. As for now, she was reduced to the common task of watching. There was no attempt to help the victim. Their fate was already sealed. Even if she did try, it would only end up with her losing her other eye. The peddler needed at least one orb to see what she was doing.
The murderer promptly grabbed the woman's throat. With an arch of the brow, the dealer noticed something peculiar, or rather, something she picked up on in this morbid business. The Repo Man didn't lift the victim up which meant that it was a Repo Woman. Fancy that, she mused. A silver blade flashed, taunting the poor delinquent. The moments were both swift and fierce as they pierced the flesh multiple times before slitting the throat. One final movement involved the ripping the still-beating heart from her chest. In a way, it was so refined and graceful, yet she was utterly repulsed. Her stomach churned as a hand covered the blond's mouth.
They act as if they've gone mad…
The jerky movements, delicate in procedure, were a staged process for these legal assassins. It was only right that they were most suitable for the job, seeing as how they had grown apathetic against the world's cruelty. It was then that the peddler was thankful for her own occupation. She made a choice and it suited her well enough. She knew that she could never commit murder. It disgusted her. It fascinated her. Like a child that peeked through their fingers, she could not tear away her gaze. Even as the goose bumps prickled her flesh, she continued to watch.
Fear pierced her heart as the Repo Woman was done with the deed. The masked stranger turned her head towards the roof, causing the frightening peddler to roll out of her view. She panted heavily as she rested a fingerless gloved hand upon her chest. That was a close one. For some benign reason, Repo Men disliked others watching them. It appeared that they had a small amount of morality that lingered within their humanity. No, that wasn't right. They wanted to keep their identities safe for whatever double-life they lived. It made the blond wonder what alternate career this Repo Woman pursed.
Maybe a snazzy singer. That would be a trip. She stifled a chuckle to prevent her from being caught. Rolling back towards a sitting position, she cautiously peered over the edge. The assassin was slinking off towards the shadows once again. What a befitting end. The blond sighed while she crept down the rickety fire escape. The coast was clear for her to roam. The young woman edged towards her dumpster, flipping over the now bloodied lid. She wrinkled her nose and curled her lip in disdain to find the body there. "Great. Now I have to find a new dumpster or spend the entire night bleaching the damn thing. Just when I had it habitable," she complained with a grimace.
That was another thing to frown upon. Repo Men never cleaned up the scene of their crime. Never.Was it because they were lazy? Was it due to the fact that they prowled the night and owned the streets thanks to GeneCo? She didn't know. All she knew was that instead of making money, she would have to waste some in order to clean the damn thing. That was the worst part of dealing Z: body clean-up. Legal assassins loved to leave their victims in the spot of murder.
"Well, worth a shot to see what's up there. What's that saying? The worm plays pinochle on your snout? Or up your nose like a rubber hose?" Black humor was another form of coping with the blonde's given lifestyle. Sarcasm and witty jokes happened to be her forte. She produced a fine needle in order to harvest the illegal drug. And bingo was his name, oh.It looked like the deceased had a love for Zydrate seeing as how there was some left in her system. A wry grin lifted her painted lips which was interrupted by the moans of the addicted.
"Shop's closed."
"Oh, but Clari…" Whiny and annoying, a rich snob.
"C'mon, Rivens. Ya gotta hook me up, 'yo." Gangster wannabe.
"But… But… Please!" Young and confused.
Very typical.
Neither of those phrases were her true name. 'Clari' was an abbreviation for her first name. 'Rivens' was a pseudo-name. In other words, it was an alias to protect her own identity. She didn't want anyone to make assumptions or connections. That would bring her hell and perhaps ruins if she was not careful enough. Rolling that cerulean hue, she pursed her lips and clucked her tongue. She might as well use them just as they use her. It was a circle of life in the dumps of Sanitarium Island. Karma? No. Survival of the fittest? Yes. Ironic how man was reduced to that simple trait. Besides, they rarely paid her.
"Alright. I'll hook you up if you buy me a gallon of bleach," she directed towards the prissy woman. 'Clari Rivens' pointed at the annoying man, "You dump this body at the graveyard. And you…" She turned to face the youth of the trio, "Tell me your name." She nodded as the teen did so. The peddler shook her head, "Just go home, Kid. You don't need this crap. Be clean. Stay clean. You don't wanna end up like that, do you?" That being the corpse. I thought so. The kid ran off much to her approval. She leaned against the brick wall as the junkies followed her demands, obediently.
Unlike the other dealers, she didn't abuse them. It was asymbiotic relationship, a type of codependency. She needed the money, food, and other necessities that they provided her whilst they, in exchange, needed Zydrate. There was no smug sense of satisfaction, only detachment. They were wrapped around her finger. She closed her eye for a minute, inhaling the polluted air. It donned on her as the marionettes lifelessly attended to their duties. What was wrong with this place? Oh, she knew the answer to it. It was a simple phrase, but the complete and utter truth.
This world has gone mad.
END.