Resa leaned back on the hind legs of her chair, breathing out in a whoosh. Her latest thesis, which she'd been working on for ages, was definitely not going to revolutionize the medical business as she'd hoped in the beginning. Absentmindedly she pulled up a folder on the hard drive labeled 'bea'. She did this a lot; it was full of pictures and videos of her and her sister, their father, some past loves that she'd cut off, and some writing. It was mostly college stuff, just some essays and such. A few items were digital versions of the articles surrounding her mother and sister's deaths and her hiring into GeneCo. There were only a few that had been stemmed at the source by GeneCo's muscles because of two reasons. One; they didn't make her out to be a good person, per se, and two; what were a few more murders in this godforsaken city? Resa kept them anyway, rereading them, wondering how she could have changed it. When she was feeling uninspired she flipped through the memories, and sometimes it helped. Usually it just made her want chemically manufactured ice cream, though.
She flipped through a few photos of her sister, gorgeous as ever, even with her occasional baldness. Usually she wore a wig, because the first treatment Resa tried, a chemical radiation from the 2020s, rid her of the hair she usually kept short. She hadn't been angry, of course. She was too sweet for that.
"Oh, Bea," Resa sighed, watching the teenager playing with a box of kittens she'd found by the side of the road. Though they were only half-sisters, Beatrice hadn't known it and Resa hadn't loved her any less for it. When their father had died and Resa's mother took them in, Bea was told it was their aunt. It wasn't as if she was around much to be asked questions, anyway.
She got to some pictures of her mother and Bea in fancy dress, and even under mum's heavy makeup Resa could see the blue bags under her eyes, the sallow skin. The constant hunger.
"Resa?"
She jumped and pushed the laptop's screen down a bit.
"Yeah?"
"It's almost nine, you're going to be late."
Right. Work. She'd been distracted.
"Thanks," she called as she jumped up, throwing her office door closed behind her. She usually kept it locked, but she didn't have time this morning. "I left some pot pie and cocoa in the kitchen, help yourself," she smiled at him, throwing on her leather trenchoat and racing for her bike. "See you later!"
xxx
The streets were considerably dirty that evening. Graverobber grimaced at the layer of grime that settled on him after only a few hours of peddling, and his Zydrate belt was nearly empty.
"You ready to go home, kitten?" he asked Shilo, leaning back on his dumpster throne. Shilo shook her head and took up the seat next to him.
"I like it here," she said, bright eyes looking up at him. He chuckled, giving her a little shove on the shoulder.
"You do not. You only like it better than home."
She shrugged. "After seventeen years of sneaking around, I want to squeeze all I can out of this city."
He nodded. He understood. Graverobber had never felt comfortable in one place for very long, and preferred doorways to beds, clouded sky to ceilings, chaos and dirt to cleanliness. He wasn't sure why. He certainly wasn't born on the streets; he just sort of gravitated towards them. The only reason he'd stayed with Shilo so often was for her sake. And ... he didn't mind her house so much.
All right, so he found himself sneaking back to the graveyard almost every night to do some more Zydrate running, but it didn't mean he hated being at her house. It was more the settled, homey feeling any house gave him that made him want to risk his life in a chase with some of GeneCo's muscles and weapons.
"There isn't much to squeeze out of these slums," he told her, jumping down from the seat and offering her an arm. "C'mon, we'll grab a bite and then I'll take you home."
"Should I expect you to be there when I wake up?" she asked in forced irritation. He chuckled. He knew she pretended he was the one pushing his way into her life, but she never put up much of a fight in the first place. Besides, she'd never buy groceries if it wasn't for him.
"Only if you want me to be."
"Of course not."
"Code for 'When don't I?'"
Lightly, she punched his shoulder as he led her to a fairly reliable cafe-type deal. The food was at least 45% edible there. After he made sure she was full, which was a considerable amount of Z later, they caught a garbage truck back to the corner of Kinsley and Lenin. Her huge house loomed over them and she leaped from the truck.
"Aren't you coming?" she called in disappointment when he didn't join her.
"I'll be back later, don't worry," he smiled, giving her a little two-finger salute. "I'm going to do another Z run quickly."
"All right," she said uncertainly, and he could barely hear her. "Bye!"
"Adieu, milady!"
Her little smile as she opened her front door failed to miss him, and he grinned too. "Cheeky little princess," he muttered fondly to himself. He decided to go back to his favorite alley briefly to pawn off a vial or two more before heading for the graveyard again. He could never stay away long.
xxx
The fire in the bin crackled over hushed voices. Six people huddled around it, their bright eyes reflecting the flames. The figures that circled the bin all wore gothic and steam-punk-style clothing, with fish-net fabric and leather present on almost every one of them. "So I've got this new plan," One of them was saying, taking a long chug from a bottle of whiskey. The others around him groaned almost simultaneously. "Not another one, Rat." A teenager who had about three different neon shades in her wild hair spoke up, "Remember what happened before?"
"Chill, Trish." The young man responded, "I'm careful, the only reason the last plan went wrong is because someone bailed." He glared at a girl across from him who dropped her gaze.
"Hey, ease up. Zaire's just getting the hang of things. Give her a little more time and she'll be the best little thief you ever saw." Trish saw Zaire shoot her a grateful look from the corner of her eye. "Besides, she's smart, maybe that'll come in handy one day."
"Oh yeah, she'll be able to distract the fuzz by quoting frickin' Shakespeare." Rat said sarcastically. A few others laughed.
Zaire blushed, but it was hidden under her dark complexion. She was torn between speaking up and giving Rat a piece of her mind or waiting for the opportune moment to put a bug in his drink, when they heard footsteps approaching on the gravel behind them.
xxx
Graverobber spotted a dustbin fire down his alley and smirked. It was the closest thing for years he'd had to friends sitting around that fire. And he hated half of them. Stinking pilferers and bandits.
He began to stroll up to them, wondering if they had anything good to offer tonight. He had several bottles of vodka and rum in hand that he'd swiped from an unattended bar on the way, and decided to butter them up.
"Drinks are on me, gentlemen," he smiled charmingly (more on the creepy side than charming, though), throwing the bottles in the center of the circle. "And ladies, of course."
"Graverobber!" one of the thieves grinned, taking a bottle. Trish. They'd had a little thing for a while. Nothing had come of it, but she was beautiful. "You sure know how to make an entrance."
"Thanks, man!" one shouted, reaching for the whiskey. Graverobber inclined his head and dropped between Trish and Rat.
"So," he started, stretching out his booted legs. "What have you scrounged up tonight?"
Then he caught sight of a new face. Dark-skinned, thin, too clean to have been out long. "A recruit? You've found another one?" he said in wonderment, smirk playing on his features.
"Hands off, Graves," Trish warned, moving closer to her ward. He lifted his hands in mock innocence.
"I wouldn't dream of it!" he said, sounding affronted. "What's your name, tiger?"
Zaire watched the man warily. He had too much confidence for his own good.
"I'm Zaire." She said, lifting her chin to look him in the eyes. "And I'm not a recruit... I'm just staying here for awhile."
"She's got big plans," Rat told Graverobber. "And she thinks she's better than us."
"I do not! I just don't want to be here forever, that's all. I'll steal to eat but one day I'll find a real job." Zaire said, hoping she didn't sound too boastful.
"You can't get a real job," Rat's best friend, a young man with dreadlocks and a chain around his neck, said bluntly. "They only hire people who have all their limbs. I still don't see why you aren't saving up to get some real flesh."
"Shut up, Drench." Trish scolded, but it was too late. Zaire's face crumpled.
"Now see what you did?" Rat said, smirking. "You got the little thing to cry."
"I'm not crying!" Zaire shouted, kicking the fire bin. A metallic sound clanged through the alleyway when her prosthetic leg made contact with the metal container. She saw Graverobber's black-lined eyes widen. "Oh, you didn't notice at first, did you?" she said, her sudden burst of anger giving her courage to address the stranger. "Well, surprise!"
Graverobber looked over to Trish, who looked uncomfortable. "Well, well," he said thoughtfully, regaining his composure. "Shit, she's a firecracker, isn't she, Trish?"
The girl looked a little nervous, but obstinately fiery as he pulled himself up to examine her, eyes lingering a long time on the prosthetic. "I once knew a man," he started slowly, "who had no toes."
That seemed to shock her into dropping the facade, and she looked at him strangely. The look said, 'I think this is worse than that.'
"He had no toes," Graverobber continued, "because his legs were amputated. Here," he touched her hip with a finger. "And here." Her thigh. "He lost an arm to flesh-eating disease," his fingers brushed her left shoulder, "here. He went on to become the greatest one-armed SurGEN and then writer I've ever heard of. Dead now, but great when he was alive."
Graverobber turned back to the fire and shot a look at Drench. "So don't tell me someone can't be great without one measly limb." He smirked back at the young girl before sitting back down. "Just because you've done nothing with your life and you have all yours."
The fight left Zaire's eyes like an extinguished flame. She expected shock, embarrassment, maybe even rebuke, but the last thing she expected from this stranger was for him to defend her. Drench's dumbfounded expression reflected her own as she sat back down.
A melancholy mood seemed to settle over the group for a few minutes, as nobody wanted to speak up after Graverobber, but soon Rat pulled out his pack from behind him and began to rummage through it. "Look what I found." He said, pulling out a long metal object. It was hard to see in the flickering light, but it looked like some sort of blade. Rat passed it around the group so they could examine it more closely. It was a machete, with intricate carvings on the handle that looped in dramatic, spiked lines to form some sort of old language. It looked ancient.
"I'm going to take it with me on a raid soon." He said, watching with pleasure as the others admired it. "I figured it might be nice to have something in case I get into trouble. And the carvings look cool- maybe it's lucky or something."
"Where are you going to go?" Trish asked. "Do you need any help?"
"Nah, this should be quick. I've been watching this house for over a week, and the SurGEN leaves at nine and comes back at six every day, and I'm sure there's no one else in the house. I'll break in the back way; it's shaded nicely by bushes. So considerate of her to plant them like that." He said.
Graverobber smiled. "Good luck," he told the guy sincerely. Housebreaking was harder and harder every day with the number of GENforcers increasing, and even if Rat wasn't his favorite thief, it'd be depressing to be around the gang without him cracking jokes.
"Luck," laughed Rat. "I live off skill."
"Well, I'm glad you're so confident," retorted Trish. "I'd take Graves' advice though. Don't be an idiot about it."
"Oh, Trish. Trish, Trish, Trish." Rat grinned at her, leaning over to pinch her cheek. She swatted his hand away. "If this is a profession of your love..."
"It's not."
Rat chuckled. "All right, all right."
xxx
Nathan didn't even consider going into the kitchen to grab the food Resa had left behind. Something else had caught his attention as he passed the hallway. A strange buzzing sound was coming from behind Resa's office door. He pressed his ear against it and listened intently. There it was again, like a giant, angry bee. His hand slid down to the handle and he hesitated only a minute before turning it. It opened. Resa had always locked the door before, and Nathan suddenly expected an alarm to go off, or for the SurGEN to jump out from behind the corner and exclaim, "Aha, I caught you!" But nothing happened. The house was still as empty and still as ever, with only the occasional buzzing noise to break the silence. Nathan pushed the door open further, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. He could soon make out various shapes that loomed in the corners- a desk, chair, filing cabinet, and various bits of mismatched furniture that had been condemned to the windowless room. An old lamp stood to his right. He switched it on.
A quick survey of the room and Nathan soon found the source of the buzzing- Resa had left her cell phone on the desk. He crossed the room and picked up the device. Resa would be missing it, but it probably wasn't a big deal. She still had her pager in case there were any emergencies at work. He was about to leave when something caught his eye. A laptop sat on the desk, quietly humming. Nathan hadn't had any contact with the outside world in so long… he would look at a couple news articles, that's all. Just to keep up with what was going on out there.
He sat down and opened the lid, breathing a silent sigh of releif when the laptop didn't prompt him for a password- Resa hadn't closed it far enough. He connected to the internet and began to surf the news websites. Nothing much surprised him; GeneCo was hiring, meat costs were on the rise, some military team was happy to report that they had won a fight for a few thousand gallons of oil out East, which would be shipped back here and sold for outrageous prices. He scrolled through the articles half-heartedly with his hand under his chin when suddenly his elbow slipped and hit the keyboard, prompting a mass of folders to open on screen. "Oh, for God's sake." He mumbled, trying to close them. He didn't get far when one caught his eye.
xxx
Resa was washing her hands, having just finished a particularly unsuccessful surgery. The man's body had rejected the liver right away, and the Genterns had needed to find a new one on short notice. They hadn't been quick enough. Even one was too many to die under Resa's knife, but so many more than him had perished. It was this stupid cosmetic surgery. It was terrifying. She didn't understand it. Risking death for literal inner beauty? Ninety percent of these people had never seen a real heart in their life.
She sighed, spinning the taps and turning. She jumped when she saw that someone had entered, and wiped her hands quickly on a towel.
"Oh, Miss Sweet," she smiled fakely. "How are the new eyes treating you?"
"Oh," said Amber, scrutinizing her with that dreamy gaze as always. "Fine. I think purple's my color." The violet eyes traveled around the room. Her white jacket and dramatically multicolored, intensely short dress swayed around her. Over fishnets the thigh-high boots and stiletto heels complimented her figure.
"It certainly is," Resa agreed. Her job depended on compliance. "Is there something I can help you with, Miss Sweet?"
"Yes. I've cleared your surgeries for the night. I need another breast job. These last ones you put in aren't firm enough."
Resa nodded, smiling sweetly. The last breasts looked firm enough to her, and she could certainly see enough of them. "Of course. I apologize."
The thin woman peeled off the shaded strip in front of her eyes, swaying her short blonde bob. "It's fine. Just fix it. I'll be back before ten."
"Yes, Miss Sweet."
Resa didn't tell her that she was supposed to be off at ten. You didn't correct Amber Sweet, and she supposed she could use the overtime.
Amber sashayed from the room. Resa let out a breath, feeling relief course through her. She could never relax with the glamorous woman nearby and her life on the line.