CHAPTER FOUR:

Shilo was eating, the mail on the table in front of her as she munched at her toast. It was a bit burnt on one side, but otherwise tasted fine. She had left the apartment and come straight home, wanting to feel a bit of the familiarity that it gave her. It didn't matter that that familiarity was tainted by lies most of the time.

Swallowing, she reached out for the mail. It was a bit more than just strange to receive physical mail rather than just a digital message. But this envelope—ornate and of fine paper, sealed with a red blob of wax—was anything but normal. As she took in these details, Shilo set down the singed toast, taking the envelope in both hands. Only now did she look at whom it was actually from, and when she did, her jaw went slack.

The letter was from Amber Sweet. Not GeneCo, but personally from the head of the company herself. Everything written on the envelope was in a fluid script, and the seal pressed into the red wax was an ornate heart with Amber's initials artfully woven with the shape. Shilo was quite confused, to put it lightly. It had been quite some time since the night of the Opera that had set the girl free, yet at the same time taken so much from her.

She hesitated to open it, remembering now that it had been Rotti himself that had killed her mother. He had been the one that had brought her life to where it was now. But her natural curiosity soon had her fingers slipping under the wax and opening the envelope.

Shilo Wallace,

Let me extend my greetings too you, as well as my condolences. I apologize for not writing to you sooner, but as I'm sure you can imagine, I have been quite busy. For your losses, and what my father put you through, I offer my heartfelt apologies. There was never any need for the way he set things up. In the past months, I have come to realize that there was quite a bit more to what happened that night that I had first thought.

I had thought to issue a public apology to you, but I believe that something much more personal is in order. I understand if you decline, and if you bare hard feelings towards my family. But I still wish to invite you to my home for a private dinner. You need not worry about my brothers, for they will certainly be elsewhere. This will be a dinner for just the two of us, and I wish to personally apologize and do something to remedy what has happened.

I am afraid that I must be brief, but please, consider this offer. I am assured of the delivery date of this letter, so these directions will be accurate. My father's driver will come to pick you up tomorrow evening at your home, at precisely six o'clock. He will wait for fifteen minutes out at the front door, and if you decide to accept my offer, he will drive you to our dinner. If you do not wish to attend, and do not come out, he will simply leave. Please, do consider coming.

Yours truly,

Amber Sweet

Shilo stared for some time at the letter. She reread it several times, short though it was. Surely this had to be a fake. Someone had to be playing a joke on her. But also… She chewed on her bottom lip, thinking. She knew that the Largo family was trouble; knew that without a doubt. But what if it was true? What if there really was an apology waiting for her tomorrow night?

UNDISCLOSED GUN STORE:

Zane did indeed know exactly what she wanted when it came to a weapon. A soon as she saw the model of gun she had mentioned before—a MP-412 Rex revolver—she instantly went to work on inspecting it. The weight was good, and she seemed to know as much about the old Russian weapon as the man who was selling it.

The store was a grim place, much like the alley it opened out to. It was small and slightly cramped, with guns—handguns, rifles, and many others—locked in glass cases that could do with a good cleaning. Behind the front desk, bullets of all kinds were stacked in their respective boxes. They could have been a bit more organized, but Zane soon picked out the box that she wanted.

"That one," she said, pointing. The owner of the store—a grizzled old man—eyed her for a moment, then brought the box of bullets over. His dark eyes considered the young woman, taking in everything. How she looked, how she moved, even how she smelled. She didn't smell of the world he knew outside, but of something else familiar. He almost dismissed her as a Zydrate junkie, but as he noticed the clarity of her actions and her eyes, he amended this thought, even with the way she smelled.

There were also her injuries to consider. They were bound hastily, but rather neatly. She at least knew what she was doing. "You sure this is what ya want?" he said, speaking for the first time. His voice was gravely, but with sharpness to it. He considered Zane as she considered him, the heft of the pistol still in her hand.

"Yes," she said without hesitating. "I want this one." She set both bullets and gun down on the counter, pushing them towards him. She produced her wallet, and pulled out all the money she had. The bills were a bit rumpled, but the money was good. "Hang on…" she said, holding up a hand. Turning, she unhooked a holster from a curve of thin metal nailed to the wall. She returned and dropped it down onto the counter. "There. This is what I want." She sighed as she watched him collect, count and then take her money, down to the last penny. "Gonna need to work soon," she muttered. She loaded the gun, closed it, and shoved it into the holster now belted around her waist.

Giving a nod of thanks, Zane left the store…and stepped out into an icy drizzle. "Well fuck," she muttered up at the sky, squinting her eyes. Abruptly, a knit cap was jammed down over her head. "OI!" She yanked away, ripping the hat from her head. "What the hell?" she snapped at the GraveRobber; he looked even paler in the darkness, so much so that he almost glowed.

And speaking of glowing…

"Zane, you're all lit up," he said softly, waving a finger at her eyes. "Or would you like to be noticed a hauled off to GeneCo?" He took the hat and put it back on. "As much as I like seeing that skin of yours, close up the coat and button up the collar."

Zane was someone who hated taking orders from anyone. The GraveRobber was no exception. She put her hands on her hips and stared up at him. "Look, I know I owe you an' all…but—" She broke off, eyes flicking to the far end of the alley. "Shit." Grabbing hold of his coat-sleeve, she dragged him swiftly across the ground. He managed to keep his feet from catching and dragging on the uneven surface, his senses spreading out as he tried to notice what had put Zane on such high alert.

She said nothing as they stopped, letting go of him. With one fluid motion, she grabbed the edge of the metal container, and without any hesitation, heaved herself in. Deciding that he would rather be safe than sorry, he also heaved himself up, and dove in with her. Zane yanked herself out of the way before he landed on her, looking up to see him silently closing the top of the dumpster.

The two of them were plunged into total darkness, and the damp smell of the empty dumpster folded in over her nose. The GraveRobber looked down at Zane, her back propped up against a slightly rusty metal wall. He was hunched over, and sat down, his eyes affixed on the woman. She was, stuffed into the total darkness of the enclosed space, quite beautiful. Outside in the normal dark of night, the glow had been rather noticeable, but inside the dumpster, the white-blue light that surrounded her made her seem…otherworldly.

Crouching down, the GraveRobber rested his forearms on his knees, his face mostly in shadow. Zane tilted her head, taking in the rather eerie visage before her. His chin, nose, cheeks, and brow were all lit up, while the rest of his face was completely dark. She could only see a slight glint of reflection in his eyes, and some part of her shivered. She knew that there was a part of her that was still a child, a part of her that had clung to innocence, digging in dirty, overgrown fingernails to what scraps were left. And that twisted little child was afraid of the GraveRobber.

Knowing this, Zane swiftly looked away, instead pressing her ear to the side of the bin. "Shh," she breathed softly, waving a hand at him. What her ears had picked up before was in the alley now, and there was no time to wonder if she and the GraveRobber had been noticed. She had heard two people coming closer, both speaking in hushed tones but not trying to walk quietly. Zane's keen ears could pick up their words even through the metal. In the back of her mind, she was only hoping that someone wasn't going to open the lid and throw in a bursting bag of rubbish.

"Trey!" a gruff, masculine voice hissed urgently. "Have ya given this any thought?!"

The second voice was also male, but younger, and much more calm. "Yes, Ryan," he said. "I have. I know what this will take, and I know that—"

"No, you don't know!" the so-called 'Ryan' interrupted. "You have no bloody idea what this will take! People will die for this, and you aren't even blinking an eye! You seem to think that this will be easy! Do you even care what the cost will be?!"

There was a grunt and a thud, and Zane guessed that one of them had shoved the other against a wall. She continued to listen. Behind her, the GraveRobber could now hear the men as well. Natural curiosity urged him forward, and he pressed his own pale ear to the wall of the bin.

Trey's voice was now very different. The tone was harsh and low, and Zane almost couldn't hear him.

"Don't you ever say that," the younger man growled, indicating that it was Ryan who had been shoved. "I care a good deal more than any other soul on this island. I'm the only one willing to do anything about GeneCo."

Zane's brows instantly knitted and her brow furrowed deeply. "Doing something about GeneCo?" The idea was not a new one, but unless someone had a veritable army behind him or her, there was nothing that could be done about the tyrannical company that even had power over congress. There was no one above them to punish them for doing wrong, no onecould do anything against the Largos.

"I am going to take that company down," he hissed. "There will be a new system and there will no need for RepoMen ever again. This world is long overdue for change. I can't stand it. I won't."

There was no response from Ryan, and Trey let out a scoff. The sound of his footsteps soon began to fade, and eventually, the other man left as well. Zane said nothing until they had left even her range of hearing, and then she turned and let her back once more press to the wall of the dumpster.

She pulled unconsciously at the cuff of her coat, and she stared ahead, eyes narrowed and slightly glazed. "Fuckin' stupid," she finally said, scoffing. "That guy is fuckin' stupid. There's nothing he c'n do about GeneCo." She raked her fingers through her hair, thoughts racing. He had been more than right however, and as she turned his words over in her head, she felt her chest tighten. Her hand instinctively clutched at the breast of her shirt, fingers twisting at the fabric as her grimace deepened.

The GraveRobber peered at Zane, taking in her body language. But his thoughts were drawn once more by the ethereal glow of her. He wanted to reach out and touch that glowing skin. He already knew how soft that skin was, and how she tasted. He smirked lightly, the expression hidden. Opportunist though he was, the idea of going at it in a dumpster didn't much appeal to him. He'd done it before and hadn't really liked it. Shrugging off the memory, he began to stand.

A hand snapped out and yanked him back down. He hit the floor with a grunt and a muffled, metallic thud. "Wait a while," Zane muttered. "Just 'cause you can't hear something don' mean it's gone." He looked over at her, and found her z-vein laced eyelids had closed over her eyes. Her long legs extended out in front of her. "But if ya really wanna go selling that stuff," she gestured disdainfully in the direction of his belt, her eyes still closed, "go ahead. But for now, I ain't moving."

She was suddenly filled with the fatigue of frustration and the bulge of suppressed memories that were threatening to burst forth. She tried not to clench her jaw, or show any kind of tenseness. She didn't want to remember anything more so soon after one rush. She wanted to sleep in her own bed, and eat her own food. The weight of a loaded gun on her person didn't make her feel any better, either. Still feeling the GraveRobber's gaze, she bent her knees, and hugged her legs up against her chest, her chin on her knees.

"Damn," she muttered, feeling the swell of suppressed memory getting stronger. " 'M gonna be 'ere a bit."

NINE YEARS AGO:

The world was as dark as ever, and Zane was thirteen. Her parents, Christy and Marcko Morgan, had already lost their jobs. The last name of each member of the aberrant family had been changed, and they had slipped off of GeneCo's Radar. At least their old identities had.

But the thirteen-year-old girl, Zane Morgan, had had an operation six months ago. One of her kidneys had started to fail, and so that their source of Zydrate and income didn't die, her parents had been forced to go through the complications of surgery, as well as doing everything possible to keep her extra circulatory system from being discovered.

Nothing had been found out of the ordinary other than the shriveled kidney, and everything had gone well. However, there had been a recent crackdown on unlicensed Zydrate peddlers. Not as many people had been buying what Christy and Marcko drew from Zane, and money was pulled and stretched to the limit.

It had been ninety days since they had sent in the last payment for Zane's new kidney.

It was due to be repossessed by a RepoMan.

Zane knew nothing of this, and her parents told her nothing, just treating her as they had since she had become their source for what they were so desperately addicted to. It was on one of the nights that the young teenager had snuck out of the house to creep through the streets, to find some relief and escape from what she lived through during the day.

"ReeeeepoMaaaan!"

The wailing chorus from the loudspeakers made her jolt, and without thinking she started to run, just like any other person would have done. She didn't think she was a target, but no one ever wanted to be around when a repossession was taking place.

Her feet pounded on the slightly slippery ground, and panic tightened in her throat. There was no one else on the street; she was alone. It wasn't that she didn't mind being alone, but this sensation was more like being stranded. It was like everyone had contrived to isolate her. She ran harder.

"ReeeeepoMaaaan!"

"No!" the girl whimpered. She could hear someone else now, someone behind her. Someone following. It couldn't be. She couldn't be the one that was being chased! She couldn't be! "No, no, no, no!"

An impersonal gloved hand grabbed the back of her neck, large fingers circling around and pressing into her windpipe to cut off a possible scream. But Zane was too shocked. She was spun around and slammed into a hard brick wall, striking the back of her head. Everything spun around her, and white-hot pain burst in her abdomen, and then nothing. She couldn't feel anything, and could only look down at the mix of red and glowing blue that was staining her clothes.

She expected for something to be said about the Zydrate, that her death would expose her parents and what they had done. "H-heh," she said, grinning faintly. Her face was slowly losing color, and her eyes rolled up to the assassin's face.

But because she was numb to the pain, she hadn't noticed that the man had done his work. He was packing up, her kidney vanishing away. Either he hadn't noticed that she not only bled crimson, but glowing blue, or he didn't care. He left her there, still very alive but bleeding badly, her insides exposed to the night air.

Zane would never remember how she came to be in her bed back home, alive and breathing of her own power. It made no sense, but all that remained of her contact with the dreaded legal assassin, was a scar on her abdomen where she had been sliced open.

She had survived a RepoMan. She should have died; died in the street and been taken off to a mass grave to join the other people that had been screwed over by GeneCo.

But she was breathing. Her body was living, and she could sit up, even if she had to be careful of stitches.

She was alive, and more determined than ever to stay that way.

PRESENT DAY, DUMPSTER:

When Zane opened her eyes again, she was shaking, and her body was beaded with a light sweat. She shivered with cold, and wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her legs closer. "Shit…" One hand went down to her old scar, finding it under her shirt and fingering over the slightly hardened tissue. "This world is fucked up."

"My, my, you really are slow, Z," the GraveRobber said, making her start as she realized he was sitting right next to her, his body heat leaking into her. "Are you only just noticing this?"

She shoved at him, growling weakly and glaring pointedly away from him. She disliked human contact after remembering something. She wasn't all that social even normally, and having memories force themselves back into her consciousness didn't help all that much. That and she didn't much like the man. She looked over at him after a few moments. "Just 'membered where I got my scar," she said.

He raised a solitary brow and looked at the drawn face. "Oh you did?" he mused.

"Yeah," she mumbled. "But it ain't any of your business. It don' matter any more."

The man's lips pressed together and quirked to the side in an odd expression of annoyance. It wasn't very nice to bring up something like that—some story that might be interesting—and then just snap that it wasn't any of his affair. It didn't matter to him if it was or not; he was curious, dammit. That, and she looked considerably paler than she had a moment ago, making the glowing Zydrate under her skin stand out even more.

Granted, most of her skin was covered, but that didn't matter. Glowing skin of any amount was bound to catch attention. It was nearly impossible to see in a well-lit room, but in a dark, enclosed place like this… Well, it seemed that something had to be done if she was ever going to be let out of the apartment. It was almost always dark these days; the clouds blocked out the sun most of the time, and whenever it did shine through, it looked sickly and ailing. Whatever had happened to the sky, the environment on the surface was just perfect to get Zane noticed.

Of course, he could always lock her in the apartment, but he doubted that she would let him do that; she probably wouldn't stay locked up for very long anyways. She would also be pissy as hell when she got out and found him. Either way, he would have to figure out a way to conceal her glowing.

He reached out, poking her cheek, only to have his hand slapped away. "What the hell?" she mumbled irritably. "Le' me 'lone." She didn't want much to do with the man at the moment, or to with anyone. She chewed on her bottom lip over and over, staring ahead of her.

Scowling, the GraveRobber reached out again, and flicked Zane soundly between the eyes. "Hey, focus, Z," he said. "You're glowing. Do you really think you can just go around without attracting attention? Unless you cover your body completely—"

"I won't be wearin' a veil or a burka or anything like that, so don't bother," Zane interrupted. "I'd rather cake my face with makeup…" She trailed off, frowning as the man grinned. "Aww, hell." Passing her hand over her face, she pulled the hat lower. "I'll fig'ure somethin' out." She pressed her ear to the wall of the bin, and then straightened, pushing the lid up and breathing in the somewhat fresher air. She hated makeup, but she didn't want to go around glowing and catching attention. Especially the attention of anyone from GeneCo.

She jumped out, letting go of the lid. She half hoped that it would fall onto the man's head. But sadly, it didn't, as he deftly caught it and leaped out as well. He dusted off his hands, the worn leather of his gloves sending up little clouds. He looked over at Zane, and darted after the woman that was already walking away. She had a fairly good sense of direction, and wanted to go back to the apartment to eat. She hadn't eaten in a while, and now her stomach was growling.

Shoving her hands into her pockets, she hunched her shoulders, letting her hair fall before her face, giving her as much cover as it could manage. The weight of the gun at her hip was a bit more comforting now, feeling it bounce slightly with each step. She was slightly chilly, and she hunched her shoulders even further, popping out her collar.

Again, her hand lowered to the scar, slipping under her shirt to finger the imperfection. She hadn't been shown how she survived, but survived she had. But that wasn't the biggest question plaguing her mind now. Why hadn't the RepoMan noticed the Zydrate? Why hadn't he noticed the glowing blue that flowed from her body as he cut into it? She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and began to worry it, chewing unthinkingly at the plump bit of flesh. She was barely aware of the world around her, watching just enough so that she could navigate.

She had to dodge out of sight only a few times before she got home. Or rather, before she got back to the place where she was living for the time being. Her hand went into her pocket, and drew out the keys that she had picked from the GraveRobber's pocket not long ago. He would likely be annoyed at her, but as she slipped back inside the dingy apartment and locked the door behind her again, Zane didn't care.

Her coat fell in a heap on the floor as she crossed over to the bed. She opened her bag, pulling out a package of some kind of trail mix or another. She spent some silent, thought-filled moments picking out the peanuts that she didn't like and leaving them in a pile on the floor to be cleaned later. Then she ate in the dark, staring down at her hands as she ate. She was confused and curious and angry, all at the same time. And now the vague scent of garbage clung to her. She didn't fancy a cold shower at the moment, so she just sat and age the trail mix, watching her softly lit hands as they conveyed food to her mouth.

TREY MALICK'S RESIDENCE:

The walls of the large room would not have been out of place in cell of someone with mental delusions. They were covered with newspaper and magazine clippings; the neatly cut articles and columns pasted, stapled, and tacked to the walls so thickly that the wallpaper had been almost totally obscured. Only in a few places could one tell that it had once been a dark green print of vines and grass on a creamy background.

The room was the largest in the house, and it was totally bare save for a rickety roll-top desk and a thick wooden chair. Trey had pulled the chair out to the center of the room, and now reclined back, staring at the walls. Each bit of text had something to do with GeneCo, from its start to the present day. Trey was a good bit older than he looked, thanks to something his parents had done for him when he was born. Had he been old enough to understand and make the decision on his own, he never would have had the changes done. His aging process was massively slowed down.

He looked in his early to mid twenties, when he was really well past fifty. He had lived in a world he'd come to hate, frustration building in him before it burst; he had to do something. Anything. He wasn't going to sit by anymore. He wouldn't let it keep going. He would see GeneCo's ruin. He'd make it fall, and then he'd erect a new system. A better one. But even if he was harsh on Bryan, the man was right; GeneCo would not fall easily. It had its claws in everything. But he would yank out each and every claw, even if it killed him.

And it very well might.

Trey knew that he could die; he knew that a lot of people could die. But it was all means to an end to him. It was a cruel way of thinking, but compared to Amber Sweet and her brothers, he was as gentle as a lamb.

And even with all his noble intent and determination, Trey was blind to one very, very important thing. He was blind to his complete and total obsession with the goal. Being set and determined was one thing, but his drive to achieve was far beyond that. It had gone over the edge a long, long time ago. He just had never noticed the fall.

Slowly, Trey leaned back, and stared up at the ceiling. It too was covered with articles. He rarely let anyone else into the room, as some part of him—some deeply unconscious part—knew just how far gone his sanity was. As always, Trey's eyes were drawn to the largest article. It was something that he had blown up in size, and pasted over everything else.

ORGAN REPOSESSIONS LEGALIZED!!

The headline stood out big and bold, staring down at Trey with unwavering intensity. That was the biggest problem; that organs could be taken away, ripped out of a human's living body. The RepoMen were what he hated most, what he would destroy first. Each and every person that had executed a repossession would be killed. They deserved no less.

"The world will be changed," Trey murmured softly. He had said this to himself every day for over a decade now, and he would continue to say it until it came true. And perhaps…the little girl from the opera would be able to help.

THE APARTMENT, SOME HOURS LATER:

Zane had taken the plunge and washed in the chilly water, and changed her clothes. Now in a pair of sweatpants, a long sleeved shirt, and a ratty jacket, she sat under the lamp, using the heat of it for some mild warmth. She was also wearing her warmest socks, feet stuffed into untied shoes. Fingerless gloves kept all but the very tips of her fingers warm, and she leafed through an old notebook that she'd managed to grab.

Most of it was a journal, but there were other bits of writing that Zane couldn't remember putting down. It could have been in the early hours or when she was about to fall asleep. Either way, the script was messy and different from her usual handwriting. Chewing on her lip again, she took out an ink pen, and turned to a fresh page. She wanted to put down that dream she had had. A mild blush hit her cheeks as she thought back on it, and then began to write. Eventually the blush faded away, and focused more on the plain, scientific detail of it.

When she was done, she went back over it, brows furrowed and the edges of her mouth slightly turned down. She'd had sex dreams before, but never about a specific person. She decided to add just a bit more.

No fuckin' idea why I had the dream. Yeah he had a go at me and it didn't feel all that bad, but that dream was way to vivid and intense. I don' like it.

Zane paused, thinking, then continued.

Either way, I don't really want another one like that. Hopefully I can go home at some point.

She closed the notebook, and stuffed it and the pen away. She rubbed her hands together, and pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt. It was very late summer, and things were starting to cool down. When winter brought snow, the city would be smeared with gray, dirty slush, and would become even gloomier than it normally was. Zane had never liked winter. She got to her feet and walked over to the window, peering outside. There was light from the sky yes, but it was dreary and depressing.

Zane wanted to go back to her own home a lot more than she had thought. She liked the way the place smelled; the scent of her laundry soap was somewhat strong, but not unpleasant. She liked it heaps better than the way this place smelled. Dumpsters, cheap food, metal, and a tinge of corpse smell all combined in the apartment, and while she could stand it, she really didn't like it.

But she couldn't go home. It would more than likely be under surveillance, and she wasn't about to be caught by GeneCo. She had figured out on her own that she probably wouldn't be killed. She'd be more of an asset to the company rather than a liability. But she had no intention whatsoever to become any kind of aid to the company that she held partially responsible for her current physical state of being.

"Stupid fuckers…"

WALLACE FRONT GATE:

Shilo stood there, staring at the open door of the luxurious limo. Here she was, ready to accept Amber's invitation. She chewed her bottom lip, hands twisting around the strap of her bag. Then after what seemed like hours of rapid thinking, she stepped forward into the interior, the door closing behind her.