Author's Note: This story serves a personal goal to write a new chapter every fortnight for the foreseeable future. The story itself takes place directly after the events of Repo! The Genetic Opera. For interest, I plan to include the song each chapter is written to as I usually listen to one on repeat when I write. If you feel it will enhance your experience please have a listen yourself while you read, all songs will be available on Spotify.
*~the dialogue in this chapter is written to imitate an oral exchange through song~*
Song: Spitfire - The Prodigy
GRAVEROBBER
He went not out of any inherent kindness but to satisfy his own curiosity. There had been nothing but speculation in the media over the identity of the waif-like girl he had encountered only days before. Never did he think that the aforementioned waif-like girl with the timid voice would have endured the life the tabloids were speculating she had. Sure, he thought it was plucky of her to be snooping around graveyards and the surgery tents at Sanitarium Square, but any thirteen year old with a lust for Zydrate would do the same. She had been sickeningly obsessed with the repossession of Blind Mag's eyes too, a typical starstruck fan. Too bad that was all wrapped up now. It was a genuine loss, there would not be another voice like that for a millennia, if ever again at all. At least Amber must be smug to finally have the spotlight all to herself. GraveRobber smirked at the thought, Amber would probably fracture at the first criticism in the press, there's no way she could handle real publicity, she could not even handle the idea of this kid thinking Blind Mag was hotter shit than Amber. Yes, she really flipped her shit, but anything that will make her want to get fucked off her tits suits me. The memory amused him, getting Amber worked up was well worth it, and the kid handled it well. He ought to have gotten her name at the time, though who would have thought she would end up being at the centre of a blood feud? There are some things that cannot be foreseen, no point wasting thought on it anyway, things ought to become clearer shortly. Grave Robber chuckled at the irony of it all and entered the designated graveyard for the meeting. This was where he felt most at home, the looming monuments, the residual grief, the forgotten lives; he was in his element.
He rounded the corner of one particularly ornate crypt overgrown with decaying vines and saw her standing awkwardly beside a nondescript tombstone. He approached her slowly, he didn't want to intimidate her, he was too interested for that.
"Um, thank you for coming here," Shilo stuttered. She was clearly more than interested in him, yet whether it was for his personal effects or for his wares was unclear.
"A girl in a graveyard is always a pleasure," he smirked.
"I've got a proposal for you to hear."
"Kid, I'm at your leisure."
She drew in a breath. He stepped towards her in anticipation. Colour flushed to her cheeks, he loomed over her. Under the light of the blemished moon, it was the first time she had the chance to fully contemplate his stature and features. He stood a good foot above her small frame, his skin was pale, his eyes quick and cold. A smirk was tracing its way easily across his face with each moment her gaze flickered over him. Her breathing quickened, as did her words when she spoke again:
"I need you to help me learn about my parents. There's so much I don't know. I thought maybe a Largo..."
"Oh. That would be a no. Time for me to go." He turned to leave. Some things were not worth the risk. Knowledge alone can be dangerous, sharing it only creates trails of evidence leading back to the source. He was not about to let that be him.
"Wait, I can make it worth your while."
Fuck she must really be desperate. Not to my taste. He swung about and laughed. "Kid, I ain't a pedophile."
She started, abrupt and offended. "I'm seventeen! But no, I think Dad had some stuff."
"Not good enough."
"Some tools of the trade could help you."
He softened at her wavering stance, she was getting more worked up about this than the usual gossip-mongering reporters for the visual tabloids. There was a veritable need here. He relented. "They could do. But kid, you need to help yourself. You gotta find out if Dad had a hideout. A lab. A place to dissect bodies on a slab. Have you been there?"
She sighed, "I wouldn't know where."
"Hey, these things are usually hidden in plain sight." He shrugged, turned and started walking back the way he came.
"Wait!" She cried. "Will you help me with the Largos? Please!"
He kept strolling, ignoring her, he had spotted a mass grave on his way here. He was a businessman, he had obligations to tend to, clients and potential clients. His business was not an easy one, after all. A willingness to get one's hands dirty while at the same time exerting an immeasurable degree of charm were the demands of the trade. A fine balance. Paradoxical. Nonetheless, he had a job to do and one that required his full attention. The grave lay before him, he stood at its edge. Mangled limbs and pale flesh that was almost radiant in the moonlight. He leapt in, a sickening squelch and crunch was the sound that welcomed his feet. He knelt down and unrolled his leather work bag, extracting his syringe and the accompanying vial. With one hand he clasped the nearest head by its jaw and tilted it back, exposing the nasal passages to the pale light that shone from the heavens. With a swift and expert movement, he forced the needle in, past the sinuses to puncture the through to the frontal lobe. He deftly pulled the syringe plunger to draw out the luminous blue fluid. Removing the syringe from the corpse he transferred the fresh Zydrate to the vial. One down, 99 to go. The stench of rotting flesh was a welcoming soberant. There was no room now to dwell on peripheral skirmishes that did not concern him or his trade. Yet. What a stupid kid. She was going to end up under a concrete slab with a needle in her brain. A shame. She is indeed plucky. And indeed pretty. Guess I will see what I can see.