CHAPTER ONE:

The thing that Zane hated most about her life was who had brought her to it. A pair of Zydrate addicts who were actually scientific geniuses. They had worked for GeneCo but had been 'let go' because of their addiction. Needless to say, things had been 'taken out' on the nine-year-old Zane, and she would forever resent the man and the woman that had turned her into a magnet for every junky that ever heard even a whispered rumor of her.

She would hate them forever for what they had done, and had none of the 'but they're still my parents' love crap that so many children had for people that abused and hurt them. A girl she had known had actually forgiven her father for raping her seven times. Zane couldn't understand that. Couldn't understand how such crimes could be forgiven.

The sky outside the bars of her window was dingy, but thankfully, faced away from the big screens that would flash with GeneCo commercials. She hated the company, even if its part in what had happened to her had been indirect. "Arrogant, pitiful, power hungry bastards…" she muttered. Then she heard a soft wave of sound from the screens, and disgust contorted proud, strong features. Her gray-blue eyes narrowed, and she yanked the curtains shut, turning from the window.

In her short black nightgown—the garment barely long enough to cover her backside—she paced over to the small kitchen, pulling open the fridge. She sighed as she always did, seeing the mostly bare shelves. She reached in, fingers hovering over a can of beer before she turned away, closing the fridge. She snatched up a half-empty plastic sleeve of saltines, and turned the light off as she left the kitchen.

A few crumbs fell from her lips onto the faded green carpet as she munched on a cracker. Her feet padded easily over the worn floor, going over to the second of the two windows in her small home. The latch on this one was broken, but she'd taken some measures against break ins. She plopped down on the creaky but sturdy chair in front of the window, crossing her long legs under her. With a snack in hand, and a view away from the rest of the city, Zane was able to catch a few glimpses of the stars.

Work that day had been worse than usual. She worked as a waitress in a cheap diner, and she'd been harassed by several customers. Flicking a length of her hair back over her shoulder, she gave a large yawn, using her tongue to work a bit of saltine out from in between her back teeth. For some time, she simply sat there, eating quietly and frowning out the window. She wanted to get out of the city, off the island and away from the place she'd grown up. But she had only money enough to keep herself fed, clothed, and relatively clean.

No money to escape the place she hated, no money to leave her past behind.

Growling a few curses under her breath, the young woman stuffed several crackers into her mouth at once, looking quite ridiculous as she chewed violently, glaring ahead of her. She hugged her legs up against her, chewing until the crackers were completely liquefied. She swallowed, getting to her feet. It was early, but she was still going to bed.

LATER:

It wasn't difficult to break into the small flat. The window's lock was broken, and the only thing in the way of a potential intruder was a mass of razor wire on the outside frame. For this particular intruder, the Graverobber, such a thing was easily dealt with. He lifted the sash up carefully, and ducked under the cracked glass, his heavily booted feet coming quietly into contact with the threadbare carpet. In the dark, his eyes peered at it, finding it some kind of green. But like all colors in this world, it had faded and become mixed with gray.

The sheets and blanket on the bed across from him weren't much different. The bed was closed off from the rest of the cramped apartment in a tiny room that only just contained the piece of furniture. He didn't pay any attention to the rest of the gloomy place, his eyes fixed on the soft, almost imperceptible glow that was coming from the figure sleeping in the bed. A grin revealed the Graverobber's teeth, sharp canines and enamel as white and pale as his skin. His black lips and shadowed eyes only made his skin seem paler.

Silent as the graves he robbed, he moved across the room, skirting the chair that was near the window. His long, multi-colored and tangled hair fell forward over his shoulder as he lifted a knee, letting it sink softly into the firm, but lumpy mattress. His movements were slow and measured and he made sure that the girl in the bed stayed sleeping; it wouldn't do for her to wake up until he was ready for her to.

He reached over, his hand slipping over the girl's shoulder. She lay with her back to him, and he slowly turned her. His eyes lit up as she flopped onto her back, her face towards him and surrounded by red-brown silky hair. But it wasn't her hair that made the man smile. It wasn't the creaminess of her skin, but rather what glowed beneath it.

Within her body, running along and beside each and every one of her veins, was a second circulatory system. But this one did not run with her lifeblood, but rather with the drug that had so many of the world were hooked on. Because of her addict parents, the girl's body contained an organ that created what they had called 'organic' Zydrate. The blue liquid flowed like blood through her body.

"The girl with the Zydrate heart," the Graverobber murmured. But no sooner had the words left his mouth than the girl was awake and pressing the barrel of a gun to his forehead.

"That ain't my name," she growled. "I'm fucking sick 'n' tired of being called that."

"Well, pardon me, then," he said, not at all fazed by the cold press of the muzzle to his skin. "Would you please tell me your name then?"

Bright eyes stared at him and then rolled. "Yeah," she muttered, "gonna tell my name t' the guy that probably broke into my home to rape me."

The Graverobber's face took on a look of what could have been genuine hurt. "Hey now," he said, frowning. "While I may have a penchant for rough sex, I'm no rapist." He reached out for her, and she pulled the trigger.

CLICK.

"Aww, fuck!" she cursed. She grabbed the barrel of the gun and smashed the weapon across the man's face. He was forced to the side and then fell off the bed. The girl lunged from the bed, her short black nightgown doing little to hide her figure and her glowing skin. "Get to the kitchen, Zane! Get a knife!" But Zane never got to the kitchen, or even out of her cramped little bedroom. A hand closed around her ankle and she crashed to the floor, cursing violently. She tried to kick. "Leggo!"

But the Graverobber is not one to be taken out by a simple pistol-whip to the head. He lunged up, pinning Zane under him, using the full weight of his body to cover hers, while his hands slammed hers to the floor on either side of her head. He quickly grabbed both wrists with one hand, finding that they were surprisingly thin. His other hand grabbed her around the throat, squeezing just enough to make it a bit harder to breathe.

"Listen kid," he said, voice now a deep growl, eyes dark and threatening. "I'm not gonna rape you, in case you didn't hear me before. And I'm not here to rob you, even though you do have something I want."

"Well what the fuck do you want then?" she growled hoarsely.

"I wanna go into business with you, Zane Morgan," the GraveRobber purred, his face hardly two inches away from hers. "You're obviously not selling what your body makes, judging by the state of this place." He jerked his head at the surroundings.

She just stared up at him, and then wrinkled a nose that looked like it had been broken recently. "You smell like rotting flesh," she said bluntly, making a face and trying to crane her neck away from him. "God, couldn't ya take a shower before ya broke in?"

He stared, blinked, and then stared some more. She had tried to shoot him, and when that hadn't worked, she'd pistol-whipped him. Now she was telling him he smelled bad and needed to wash. Granted, that last bit was probably quite true, but it still got a laugh out of him. A deep sound that Zane actually found attractive. "Part of the job, doll," he said. "You try being a grave-robber and see if you don't get used to it."

Taken off guard by the sound of his laugh, Zane's expression faltered, and the GraveRobber grinned down at her. As she struggled, he rolled his eyes; she really was a fiery creature. But he didn't have time for this, neither of them did. His hand around her neck tightened, allowing her just enough air to stay conscious, but not enough to speak. "Now, you're going to listen to me, Zane," he said darkly. "I'm not the only one that knows about you and that lovely little organ pumping away behind your heart. GeneCo knows, too." He saw her eyes widen in both fear and anger. "That's right," he continued. "If you don't come with me now, kid, you'll probably die. And you don't seem like someone who's ready to die." He let go of her throat, and she gasped and coughed, dragging air into her lugs.

"Get the hell offa me so I can get my stuff!" she hissed.

"That's a good girl," GraveRobber said, letting go and rising up onto his knees, looking down at Zane. She looked quite nice like this, and he filed away the image for later consideration.

She scrambled out from under the man, ignoring him completely now. She stripped rapidly, giving him a flash of her bare, modest breasts before she'd yanked on a loose blue tank-top, cropped to show her midsection. She stuffed some clothes into a bag, pausing only to put on a pair of purple-pink arm warmers, tight at the top and lose at the bottom around her hands. She hopped comically to the bathroom into a pair of green cargo pants, before stuffing toiletries into the bag as well.

The GraveRobber was about to tell her to hurry up when she scrambled out, feet stuffed into red converse shoes. She opened her mouth to say she was ready, then held up one hand. She raced to the other end of her home, grabbing a black trench coat and stuffing what food she could into her bag. Before she could turn around again, a strong arm grabbed her around the waist, turning her and pressing her into the GraveRobber's side. "Oy! I can—!"

He slapped a hand over her mouth, moving quickly over the floor and back to the window. He pushed her out before himself, her landing with a thud on her side. But she didn't even have time to curse as she was grabbed up again, and a hat jammed over her head. "Just shut up," he growled, grabbing her wrist and starting to move, "and run." Zane was pulled after him, fumbling to keep hold of her bag as she broke into a run, the alarm of the GeneCops on their heels.

Her long legs allowed her keep up with the man, and she didn't waste air on talking; the muscles in her legs needed it more. He glanced back to check on her, dragging her away from her home and deep into the city slums, along paths and through crooked alleys that only he could navigate with such precision. Then he blinked, glancing back a second time. They were still running, and he realized that the girl hadn't bothered with a bra. He snickered and returned to running. He could contemplate her physical virtues later.

When they finally stopped, Zane had no idea where they were. She slumped, panting, against the wall of the alley, her chest heaving and blood pumping with adrenaline. "That…was fun!" she hissed, lifting her eyes to glare at the man. But it was only a halfhearted expression; she was all too aware that she now owed this man her life. He hadn't liked to get her out of the house; she had heard the GeneCops chasing them. But now she owed this Zydrate dealer, big time.

Before she could catch her breath, he took her hand again, pulling her to him and then opening a door. Too winded to pay attention, Zane was dragged up several flights of stairs, before she was shoved into an unlit room, the GraveRobber behind her and locking the door.

"Fuckin' 'ell!" she wheezed, collapsing to her knees and then sitting down with a thud. She leaned back and supported herself with her arms, gulping in air and staring into the darkness. "That…guuuh!" She gave up on talking and fell onto her back. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, and she turned her head to watch the shadowed man move over to what looked like the shape of a table, and bend over it. A light flickered, and he straightened away from what looked like one of those old camping lamps; old but bright as hell.

He said nothing as he took off the leather satchel he wore, and then his coat, letting them drop onto the floor. This revealed the vials of Zydrate glowing as they hung from his belt, and Zane instantly sat up, scowling and shaking her hair from her face. His face finding hers, the Graverobber grinned, chuckling softly as he crouched down, knees bent, to look at her more closely. His gray-blue eyes were dark and bright at the same time, studying her intently. His breathing was elevated as well, but he was recovering more quickly.

"Hmm, you aren't exactly what I was expecting," he said, reaching out a leather gloved hand and brushing his fingers over her cheek. Zane slapped his hand away. He grinned. "I was expecting someone more submissive…" He tilted his head, eyes going over every inch of her slowly. This got him growled at, and he blinked at the sound, once more looking at Zane's face.

One leg snapped out, and she slammed one foot against his throat, making him choke and fall back with a hoarse snarl of anger and surprise. "Listen to me, GraveRobber," Zane said lowly. "I know that I owe you; don't think for a second that I don't know that. Also, I will repay you, so don' bother worrying 'bout that." She slowly stood, watching as he rubbed his throat and stared up at her, brows furrowed. "But don't ever judge me. Ever. You ain't got the right to do that."

In response, the GraveRobber surged from his sitting position, slamming into Zane and dragging her to the wall where he held her by her throat. His face was dark, without a trace of the odd humor he'd had before. "You'll repay me?" he growled. "How?" His other hand grabbed her hip and dug in hard, his grip bruising. "You think I'll just be satisfied with the Zydrate?" He leaned in, his hand shifting from her neck to her hair, holding her head back and exposing her neck to him. He dragged the tip of his tongue over the column of her throat, feeling her gasp and swallow, body quivering as she held herself back.

"What if I want more?" he said, lips brushing her neck and making Zane shiver. "What if I want a glow of a different kind?" He pulled her lower body flush against his, a threatening act that was matched in his eyes as they met Zane's. And he held her gaze for several long moments, letting her take in and memorize this side of him, a side she didn't want to bring out or toy with.

Abruptly, he let to, rubbing her scalp soothingly, doing the same to the hip he had held to tightly. He back away, face calm again. "I'm really not that hard to get along with you know, kid," he said, turning away and picking up the lamp. He left her standing at the wall as he strode over to what Zane realized was a large, if rather warn, folding screen. He dragged it aside, setting the lamp on the ground. He revealed a twin-sized mattress on the ground, shoved into the corner. There were no pillows, but a blanket lay rumpled over it. He made an oddly formal gesture towards the bed, acting almost like an old fashioned gentleman.

Zane blinked, staring. Her hand lifted and brushed her throat where his mouth had touched, taken aback and slightly stunned at his rapid change of mood. "Wh-where are you sleeping?" she finally got out.

He snorted, dropping the pose. "On the bed," he said bluntly, sitting down on the edge of it and taking off his gloves. He then began the task of undoing the seven buckles on each knee-high boot. Just because he was being a gentleman and letting Zane sleep on his bed didn't mean he was going to sleep on the floor. "You wanna wash or something, the shower's right across the hall." He remembered that she'd brought a towel with her when she'd rushed through packing.

But Zane shook her head, saying nothing. She slowly took off her coat, and slid down to sit on the floor. Her neck hurt, as did her hip where he had grabbed her. She wasn't exactly frightened—fear did not come easily to Zane—but she was shaken. It had been a long time since someone had done this to her. Reflexively, she hugged her legs up against her chest, resting her chin on her knees. She'd gotten herself into a huge mess, and she clenched her jaw, hiding her face now.

"This is going to be a long night," she thought, knowing that the odds of getting a good night's sleep were very, very low.

WALLACE RESIDENCE:

Despite how sheltered she had been, Shilo had proven herself quite adaptable. She had found that both her father and Mag had her father had left her everything; Mag had changed her will the night of the Opera. Mag's money, her home, her father's money and everything that had ever been his, all of it was hers. She had enough money to live comfortably for quite some time. But that didn't mean she was going to just sit around and do nothing with her life.

However…getting a job—as she knew she had to—was a lot harder than she had first thought. She had no diploma to certify that she had a high school level education. She'd been well educated by her father, but was currently having to go through quite a few on line courses to prove her education. It was through a well-fare group, so it wasn't costing her much. And she was also exploring the world that for so long she had only seen from her window.

Moving through the dark streets, her bag over her shoulder, Shilo bit her bottom lip, shivering lightly as a breeze gusted over her. She pulled the black velvet hoodie closer about her, and lifted up the roomy hood. As her father's medicine worked its way out of her system, her own hair had started to grow. It was as black as the wig had ever been, but it was softer, with a more down-like quality. She was wearing a pair of dark maroon leather clogs and her black knit, thigh-high stockings. Her shirt was a bodice of plum velvet and black silk puffed sleeves. Her skirt was black pleated wool with a lining of satin to keep it from irritating her pale skin.

It was several hours before curfew, and the gold pocket watch of her father's was set to go off thirty minutes before, to give her time to head back home. Usually, she just wandered a course she'd picked out on a map before leaving the house. But this time, she was looking for something in particular. Or rather…someone. She was looking for the GraveRobber. It had been some time since she had seen him, and now she was going back to the last place he'd been.

She had only seen him once since the Opera. She had wandered away from her home, not wanting to be anywhere near it. She had wandered around, bloody and crying, until she found herself back in the alley where she had learned of Blind Mag's fate. She'd heard a deep male voice humming from somewhere near a dumpster and, blearily recognizing the voice, and followed it.

That was where she'd found the GraveRobber, lounging in the empty dumpster.

Peering in, Shilo sniffled, face smeared with blood and tears. "H-hello?" she quavered to the man who lay on the metal bottom of the container.

One dark blue eye opened, brows furrowed as the owner stared up at the female that had spoken. He didn't have any more Zydrate to sell, so if it was… His train of thought stopped, and he opened both eyes. "Kid?" He sat up. He'd seen the Opera, everyone had, but he hadn't expected the girl to end up here.

He was all Shilo knew of the outside world, and when home had been about as welcoming to her as the bloody opera stage, some part of her had gone to the only other thing she knew. "I c-can't stay in the h-house," she whispered, restraining herself from jumping into the dumpster and clinging to the man. "J-j-just can't be there r-right now…" She wiped at her tears, as they blurred her vision, and smeared her make-up and blood worse than they already had been.

The man hefted his six-foot frame into a standing position, and with a quick leap and a thump of landing, he stood beside Shilo, looking down at her. He looked her over; the only difference from when he'd seen her on the big screen was that the blood had tried, caking in her wig and on her skin, ruining the short dress she was wearing. He sighed, frowning. He had very twisted morals, but he liked this kid, especially after he'd seen her fire as she had pointed the gun at Rotti Largo.

Reaching out he took her hand, and began to lead her away. "You can't stay long," he said. "I don't have anything that'll meet up to what you're used to. Just a place to sleep."

And to his surprise, she said, "That's all I want…" Her voice was thready and hard to hear. "Don't want anything like what I had…" She wrapped her arms around herself, pulling from his grasp. He put an arm around her shoulders instead, his coat already so stained that a little dried blood wouldn't do much harm at all. "I want the thing farthest from it…"

This got a dry laugh from the GraveRobber. "Well that's where we're headed, kid."

Shilo only remembered how to get to the apartment building because it had been the first thing marked on the map of the city. In red pencil the route was outlined and the building circled. It took her some time and lots of backtracking before she was into the building and climbing the stairs, muttering the room number under her breath as she did so.

UPSTAIRS:

Zane hadn't moved from her spot, and because of this, her ass had fallen asleep and her back hurt. But she didn't want to move. She didn't want to go near the man that had saved her life, and then gone and said he might take that debt out by way of using her body, and for a lot more than just the Zydrate in it, all in the space of less than half an hour.

She was half awake, half asleep, and as she hovered between the two, making soft sounds of general grumpiness as she crouched. Meanwhile, this was slowly getting more and more annoying for the GraveRobber. He got to his feet, his boots gone but the thin knitted scarf and Zydrate adorned belt still on. Deceptively silent, he padded across the wooden floor, avoiding all the creaky spots before he knelt down in front of Zane.

"Oy, kid," he muttered, poking her head. She started back to wakefulness, instinctively pushing herself backwards. This only made her hit her head on the wall. "Hey, take it easy," the GraveRobber muttered, smirking in amusement. "Lemme see your hip," he said then, nodding to where he'd grabbed her. She tensed instantly, pulling her legs closer. He frowned, staring at her with slightly furrowed brows. "C'mon. I'm not gonna do anything but look at it."

Still very wary and more than a little guarded, Zane got to her feet, adjusting her shirt as he stood as well. "Fine…" she muttered. She undid the button and zipper of her pants, yanking them down off her hips. Her underwear was a faded blue, with the faint outline of what might have once been a pair of wings on the front.

But even with her so boldly showing herself to him, the GraveRobber couldn't see too well. He took hold of the waistband of her pants, and pulled her—half stumbling—over towards the light. He turned and knelt down, back bent as he peered at her hip. Sure enough, a dark, hand-shaped bruise was beginning to form on her creamy, almost gold-toned skin. A sly grin slowly began to form on his face. "Hmm."

'"Hmm?"' she thought. 'What's that supposed to mean, huh?' She frowned down at him, crossing her arms under her bust, giving her already reasonably sized breasts even more volume. Despite her uneasiness with the situation, she couldn't help the light flush that came to her cheeks at having a man bent before her at that particular level, especially with a certain part of her anatomy dead level with his mouth.

The GraveRobber glanced up at her face, and almost looked away again. However, seeing her blush and spotting Zane's modestly sized breasts, he couldn't stop himself from... having a bit of fun. His hands slowly slid around her waist and settled on her smooth backside as he began to softly kiss her vulva. She was taken off guard by the push and stumbled a bit.

His lips pressed against her vulva through her underwear, caressing the vaginal opening with his tongue. Her surprise at both his actions and the sudden sensual pleasure gave him enough time to exhale deeply, his teeth slowly moving the panties off to the side while his tongue slid its way further out to press through the crease of her outer folds.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she fell forward, hands bracing on his shoulders, her thoughts trapped in a loop of bewildered confusion and erotic ecstasy. She had not been expecting this. Though her logic told her to push him away and to stop this incursion into her, her mind and body began to scream in unknown and unearthly pleasure. But her lack of rejection spurred him on, and he gripped her backside, letting his hot tongue reach out to taste her again, as she moaned softly and lightly fell back against the wall, slowly sliding her hands from his shoulders to the back of his head, gently holding it in place.

A panicked female cry from the hallway shattered the hot and erotic passion. The Grave Robber's ears perked up in recognition; it was a voice the opportunist knew far too well. "Hey! Let go of me!"

It was Shilo Wallace.