Hello Everybody!

So, wow. I do believe that this is my very first crossover ever. I've had ideas before but never actually written them. I'm proud of myself. Plus, with the scarcity of HiNaBN crossovers it makes me feel like I've accomplished something. Not really, but just let me have a moment here. Anybody who doesn't know what Repo! is: first of all, shame on you. Second of all, see the author's note at the end of this. Then go look it up for yourself.

Sort of AU. Mild language, some semi-graphic violence. Born from pre-MonsterCon excitement and perfected during a brainstorm conversation with Hai Aieru. {roseredautumn on DA}

Disclaimer: I do not own Hanna is Not a Boy's Name, nor any of the characters/locations therein. I also do not own Repo! The Genetic Opera, nor any of the characters/locations therein. I do, however, own the story.

Escape from Crucifixus – Part I

"GeneCo President, Amber Sweet effectively passed a new law today, which she claims will end grave robbing and unlicensed drug trafficking once and for all. A press conference was held earlier this week to discuss Miss Sweet's future plans for GeneCo, as well as the city itself; during which, Miss Sweet stated that she was dissatisfied with the company's current safety programs. She was quoted as saying, 'Despite my father's efforts to keep Zydrate off the streets and out of the hands of drug dealers, grave robbing and cemetery vandalism continue to be rampant problems. So we're stepping up our efforts to keep the city safe. It is my hope that, with this new law in place, we will be able to crack down even harder on both of these illegal activities and stamp them out for good.' This new law will be effective immediately. In other news, Crucifixus mourns the death of long-time GeneCo opera singer, Blind Mag…"

Like a shadow, he moved quickly and quietly through the darkest corners of the graveyard towards the familiar crypt on the far side. This would be the last time he could get away with this. Hell, he probably couldn't get away with it this time, but he had to try, at least. He wasn't going to just up and leave without telling her goodbye. She's lost enough already.

He ducked behind a larger headstone, out of the way of one of the searchlights that swept past. Shit. That had been close. He would have to be more aware of the GeneCops tonight. He waited for the uniformed figures to pass by before he shifted so that he could peer around the crumbling rock of the grave markers. There was a pebble under his kneecap and it hurt like a sonuvabitch but he didn't dare move to reposition it. It would have to stay there until he deemed it safe enough to make a mad dash for the crypt. At last there seemed to be an opening. Never one to pass up an opportunity, he darted out as silently as he could – which was pretty darn silent, considering. It took him only a few seconds to reach the single iron door. Now came the fun part. He knew from experience that the door had a tendency to squeak. Gods willing, it would hold its peace. Carefully, while looking over his shoulder, he gripped the bars at the top and shoved hard. The door swung open with minimal sound and he slithered inside, his coat trailing behind him like wings.

Once within the safety of the tomb, he pushed the hunk of metal shut again and bounded over to the back wall. He pushed sideways until the slab of concrete slid to reveal a hidden hallway. As soon as there was room to squeeze his body through, he was closing the secret entrance and trotting up the passage and into the house beyond. Through the wall, up the stairs, past the creepy pictures of Mrs. Wallace that always seemed to be looking at you, to the farthest bedroom. He knocked softly. "Hey, kid. It's me."

The door cracked open. Beyond the dim lighting that filtered out he could see just the barest hint of a silhouette, just the faintest glint of an eye. Then the door opened completely. "Graverobber?"

"None other." He gave Shilo one of his cocky smirks. On the inside he didn't really feel much like smirking, but he knew that it would be better all around if he tried his best to act normal. Couldn't go freaking the kid out, now could he? He let the smirk fade away. "You been listening to the news lately?"

Shilo nodded, ushering him into her room and flicking on the lights behind them. "Yeah, I just saw the press conference from earlier. They replayed it." And Mag's funeral, hung in the air, not needing to be said aloud. Instead, she wandered over to her piano bench and sat down.

Graverobber trudged over to the bed, mimicking her actions. He gave a half-hearted glance around the room, noting that the plastic curtains had been taken down and that the medical machinery was shoved into the farthest corner available. About damn time, he thought. "Listen, kid," he leaned back against one of the bedposts, propping his muddy boots up on the foot board, "I'm not gonna lie to you, things are gonna get a helluva lot worse out there. I'm might not be able to stay here much longer." He watched Shilo's face carefully as he spoke.

She lowered her eyes to the floor, twiddling her fingers in her lap. "You had to sneak in, didn't you? Because of Amber's new law."

"Yeah. The number of GeneCops has about tripled." He sighed. "And they're armed to the gas masks. Anything so much as casts a shadow in the graveyard anymore and they'll throw a fucking grenade at it. New equipment, too."

They were silent for a time, both thinking heavily about the situation. Then, in a display of rare uncharacteristic behavior, Graverobber stood, crossed over to the girl, and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. "I have to leave, kid." From the way he had said it with such finality, they both knew that he didn't just mean the house, but the city itself.

Pale hands gripped at his ratty coat as Shilo buried her face in his chest. She inhaled deeply and held it for a second before letting it back out though her mouth. "I'm going with you."

"What?" His shirt had muffled her voice but he had heard her none-the-less. It was what she had said that stumped him. He placed his hands on her thin shoulders, pushing her away from him gently so that he could look at her. "No, kid, you can't. It's way too dangerous."

"It's even more dangerous if I stay here. You said it yourself, things are going to get crazier, and I've never been on my own before. I don't know how to take care of myself especially like this." She turned her eyes to the holo-picture of Marni Wallace that still flickered above her mantle. "Besides, what's left for me here? The power with be turned off eventually and I can't exactly go and buy more food once I run out." She looked back at him. "I'm safer with you. Out of this place, out of Crucifixus."

He wished he could argue with her, oh how he did. But he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was right. And maybe, some little part of him had been hoping that she would say it, would want to stick with him. It was so hard to trust anyone these days, and Shilo was – if nothing else – his friend. He nodded once. "Okay. Get your things; pack only what you absolutely need and keep it light. We leave in ten."

Without another word, Shilo moved to fill a small duffle bag from under her bed with essentials. A locket with pictures of her parents and a signed photo of Mag were the last things to go in.

Ten minutes later, they were gone.

Fear, pure and frenzied. It pounded through his veins, spurred his aching legs to go faster, faster, FASTER. He couldn't breathe, couldn't stop to catch his breath. He had to keep moving. It was his only hope.

He could hear his own heart as it thundered in his burning chest and prayed that he was the only one who could. But then he heard something else. Heavy, booted footsteps, echoing his own and ringing faintly down the alleyway behind him. "Oh god!" he whimpered. His legs pushed harder. Adrenaline surged.

His sneakers 'sniked' against the concrete as he rounded a corner in the never-ending maze of the city's backstreets. In his panic, he collided with a trashcan and both were sent clattering to the ground. He desperately clamored to his feet, nearly staggering into a wall in his haste to right himself. On he ran.

But then he turned another corner and was faced with a dilemma. A narrow corridor of brick stretched out in front of him. Several doors lined the wall, leading into the darkest bowels of the buildings; the city's underground. At the end of the alley was…nothing. A dead end with only another door. He paused in his fleeing to look franticly about him for any signs of hope. Anything that could save him. He rushed forward again and pounded on one of the doors. No response. He tried another one several yards further on. Still no one came to his aid. Time was running out, and so were the doors. His brain stopped functioning properly. All he could process was one single line of thought, repeating and repeating and repeating itself in his mind like a mantra, a chant. "Gotta get away - Gotta get away - Gotta get away!"

Run, run, run.

By the time he reached that final door he was borderline hysterical. His body propelled itself against the rotting wood with all the force of his adrenaline and terror, all the kinetic energy that had built up as he charged down the dark streets. It shuddered but did not break. He was too dazed to try again and stumbled backward.

The he heard the sound of metal being drawn from leather. He knew now. There was nowhere left to run, and he knew it. Tendrils of ice crushed at his heart as he turned around to face the nightmare.

Tall, dressed from head to foot and more in black, and wielding an instrument of death and pain and all things terrible in the world.

A scalpel.

"No. No, please, please just leave me alone!" he begged, pleaded, beseeched. He was crying now, he could feel it. His vision blurred, distorting the image of the monster before him. It advanced. "Please, I—" His pursuer grabbed a handful of his hair and smashed him back against the door with one hand. Cold, merciless eyes gleamed at him from behind a thick mask; illuminated by an eerie blue light. The hand in his hair moved to his throat and held him in place tight against the wall. His own hands clawed feebly against the dense rubber of the figure's uniform.

The scalpel rose.

And he screamed as blinding agony ripped through him. Tearing, shredding, slashing at his defenseless form. He screamed until his mouth and nose filled with blood and he choked on his own life-fluid. But he could still feel it. Gloved fingers, pulling and twisting at his insides. Stripping him of things that should never have been touched at all. He could feel his energy draining out of him like water down a pipe. His struggles ceased, his body went limp, and his murderer finally let him go. He slid down the wall, leaving a trail of crimson behind him.

The last thing he saw before he was sucked into oblivion, was the assassin cleaning the blood from his instrument with a practiced sweep of his wrist. And then the world went black.

He awoke, shrieking harshly; a death scream. He thrashed away the thin blankets that covered him and whipped his body up into a hunched sitting position. His head throbbed and it hurt to breathe. In the dark of the room he couldn't remember where he was. The fog of his dreams hadn't yet left him entirely.

A shape moved in the shadows, reaching for him. An unearthly glow from unearthly eyes. And he was crying out in fear, lashing out an arm to defend himself from whatever may have slipped from his nightmares to claim him again. "S-stay away!" The momentum of his flailing aided him as he crawled backwards off the mattress and away from the corner. He gulped in lungful after lungful of air.

"Hanna…It's me. It's just me; you were having a nightmare." The voice was familiar, soothing, safe. The figure made no move to touch him again, simply watched him with deep concern etched into the glowing eyes. And maybe a little bit of hurt.

He willed his breath to slow, his heart to calm. He was in his apartment, far away from the place in his dreams. He was safe. Safe. No more men in black masks. The haze lifted from his head. "G-Gala…had?"

His friend nodded slowly.

Hanna suddenly felt like the universe's biggest dick as reality snuck back in and walloped him a good one. He ran a hand across his face and up through his hair. He rested his head in his palm. "I'm sorry, I…" But he didn't know just what to say. 'Sorry' didn't seem to cut it. So he just stayed silent.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Just as he opened his mouth to give an answer his stomach suddenly contracted. Instantly he was on his feet, stumbling into the bathroom and leaning against anything in his way for support. He clutched the sides of the toilet with shaking fingers as his body heaved and convulsed. Nothing came up, not even blood.

He collapsed against the sink, the porcelain cool on his burning skin. As he rested his head back and closed his eyes he couldn't help but wonder just why he had dreamt what he did. That dream – that memory – had not plagued him for years. So why now?

Something was coming. He could feel it…

I have met the Graverobber, Mr. Terrence Zdunich, himself. I hugged him, talked to him, and got his autograph. He even complemented my group on our Repo! cosplay. He is a wonderful, wonderful person. So friendly. Thank you MonsterCon Indianapolis 2010!

Repo! The Genetic Opera is a rock opera that was originally a stage musical. Roughly two years ago it was adapted into a movie. The basic story is that, in the year 2060-something, there is a plague of organ failures. A company called GeneCo provides a cure and then starts to market out organs, making surgery fashionable. However, if you can't make your payments then GeneCo sends in the RepoMan to take back your parts. For a more in-depth explanation, just head to Wikipedia. Repo! is everywhere. {Repo! is in no way associated with the movie Repo Men. In fact, Repo Men stole its entire premise from The Genetic Opera. This is fact.}

Musical Muses:

Repo! The Genetic Opera Soundtrack – Needle Through a Bug

Repo! The Genetic Opera Soundtrack – 21st Century Cure