Graverobber wandered through the street aimlessly, mind reeling from the opera. Three were selfishly killed onstage, causing the life of a young girl to be ruined all in a matter of mere minutes. Graverobber had never had a particular problem with death- seeing as he was a peddler of Zydrate, a drug that began brewing in the brain of a corpse just minutes after the deceased found their final resting place, he was actually quite comforted by the thought of the natural life and death cycle of the human body- yet the events of this night chilled Graverobber down to his cold, sore bones. The large man also never felt sympathy for another human being the way he felt for Shiloh- the kid he had met in the graveyard.

Footstep after footstep, Graverobber was unaware of where he was going. Nowhere, he supposed. He had no place to call home; he simply lived a semi-nomadic, nocturnal lifestyle- sleeping in a dumpster during the day, peddling Z by night. He enjoyed this lifestyle, albeit he often did wish for a companion. He had always considered getting a pet- maybe a nice mutt, fierce, but affectionate. Yes, a dog would do just fine.

The streets of Sanitarium Isle made up a complex labyrinth, filled with nothing but scum of the Earth. Sometimes, a clean, well dressed person would appear, curious about life behind the scenes of the corrupt society in which they were forced to be a part of. Graverobber treated them well, you see- first hit was always free. That person would appear back a few nights later, eyes filled with shame, mortification, but nevertheless with payment in hand- and then they were hooked. They'd show up more grungy- clothes askew, a dark five o'clock shadow here, oily hair and blood-shot eyes there- more strung out every time, until eventually they were crawling on their knees, hands as empty as their promises to pay their newly found god back next time. And then there were the few that tried to be cute- shaky hands slithering into the pocket of Graverobber's bear of a coat, fingers desperately searching for the a fix. He knew exactly how to deal with these people- a dose too much of the Z here, a vial laced with some untraceable poison there- Graverobber didn't put up with anybody's shit, and he wasn't shy about it, which is what placed him solely at very the top of the game, a place he proudly deemed his own.

Graverobber could hear footsteps approaching him from the rear, heavy breathing echoing off the wall. Instinctually, and as smoothly as possible, the large man ducked behind a dumpster, wedging himself between crates, body hidden from plain view. Footsteps and heavy breathing turned into a body hitting the ground and sobbing. Graverobber smirked- must be a new addict, frantically searching for just one more hit. Adorning a sinister grin, he dislodged himself from his hiding spot, pulling out his Zydrate gun with that infamous little glass vial, full to the brim with an intoxicating blue liquid.

He sauntered over to the body on the ground, watching it as it relaxed itself on the pavement, eyelids closing over shaded eyes. Graverobber noted that it was a girl, by the way her petite body was curved, her dirty, torn dress clinging to her in a way that caused Graverobber's trousers to grow more tight the closer he was to her. Reddish-brown crust covered her shoulders and arms, the once smooth red liquid now dried into flakes. Her head was bald, a long, black wig in her hand. Makeup was smeared across her pale skin, reminding Graverobber of the beginning strokes of a sad, lonely portrait.

As the Zydrate peddler approached the girl, he gasped- the Zydrate gun almost falling out of his hand. He barely caught it, the trigger catching on his fingertips.

"Kid, is that you?"