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Description
He ran, through the dank, filthy alleys, taking quick corners, trying to escape the dark thing following him. The man's increasingly ragged breathing echoed off the grimy stone walls, much to the delight of his pursuer, the Repo man.

His prey was several hundred yards ahead of him, but no matter; the chase always heightened his senses. He could hear the other's footsteps, faltering more and more frequently and making his heart leap with excitement every time it happened. Hell, he could practically taste the fear and bile in the other's mouth, feel the growing panic as his chest began to tighten and burn. The Repo man grinned behind his dark mask in anticipation as he followed, steadily and unerringly.

"Soon," he growled, fingers tightening around the handle of the bag he carried. "So very soon."

The rattle of chainlink and a panicked "Shit!" reached his ears. His heart rate accelerating, the Repo man quickened his pace, his heavy boots eerily silent on the pavement. A left, a right, another right, slip through the hole in the fence halfway down the alley, vault the gutter. He ran the path over in his mind. After hunting in the maze-like alleys of this city for a little over a decade and a half, he knew every twist, every turn, every potential path. He had his clients to thank for that. They ran, they always ran. In the beginning it had made him angry, but as the years wore on he grew to appreciate, anticipate, savor the chase.

He leapt over the gutter, rank with offal, and landed light and silent as a cat before slipping into the shadows. Repo clicked the light in his helmet off, letting him disappear completely in the blackness. He paused at the entrance to the dead-end, listening intently to the mad scrabbling of his target as he tried every door, each one shut and locked tight. The inhabitants of this city knew better than to come between the dark thing and his prey.

It was a wonder the horror could hear anything over the thundering of his heart in his ears, but hear he did: the frantic mutterings and scraping footsteps of the doomed man, clear as a bell. Had anyone the misfortune of seeing the grin twisting the predator's face, their blood would have frozen in their veins.

The Repo man located his victim and slunk into the dead-end, keeping to the shadows, not that it was difficult to stay out of the grungy, flickering red-neon light. Circling 'round behind him, Repo got his first good look at his victim. Tall, broad, muscular, and not much more than twenty, he didn't look much like the normal denizens of the decaying city. As the boy possessed neither the strung-out look and haphazardly pieced-together clothing of a street Zydrate junkie nor the false, strained feature of a highborn scalpel slut, the Repo man wondered if perhaps he was from one of the rare rural areas lucky enough to have been missed by the organ failures.

The monster shook the thought from his head. That was something he would let his other half worry about. He scoffed silently. His other half. A weak, sentimental fool who lacked the stomach to do his job. Their job now.

Repo stole closer to the man. No matter where he was from, he would prove a challenge, something that excited him to no end. Closer, closer, sturdy boots still silent on the street. Every step made his heart race faster, brought the other into clearer focus. He could hear the tired wheeze in his lungs, smell the sweat from his run and the offal farther down the alley. The fear and apprehension hung heavily in the air, already thick with humidity from the imminent rain. Sweat ran down the back of Repo's neck as he stopped a few scant inches behind his victim. He reached up and clicked the light in his mask back on, the creak of leather and electric hum of the light alerting his prey to his presence.

The man jumped nearly out of his skin and spun to face his stalker, stumbling back a few steps in the process. The Repo man's grin wavered, fearing this one would be like all the others: pathetic, pleading, routine. Then the boy regained his footing and straightened, his fists clenched and his chin out in defiance. The smirk returned and his hand tightened even more around his bag handle, the knuckles white within the black gloves.

"I know what you are," the youth snapped, "and I have nothing for you. Leave me alone."

This threw him for a moment. Begging, threatening, bargaining: all these he was used to. But true defiance? This was new, and it sent thrills down his spine. The Repo man took an intimidating step toward the young man. Nothing. Not a flinch, not even a blink: nothing, except perhaps for a slight tightening in the muscles of his jaw. Repo drew himself up to his full height and took another step.

The boy swung a fist, catching him in the left side of his mask and smashing it into his face, cracking the visor. Repo staggered, his bag hitting the pavement with a heavy thud. He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his vision as his would-be victim dropped into a defensive stance. He pulled his helmet off, gave the cracked Plexiglas a disgusted look, and tossed it to the ground before turning his now-bare gaze to the other. He brought a gloved hand up and laid it gently on his cheek, pain lancing from the soon-to-be bruised skin at the feather-light touch. The salty, metallic taste of blood trickled across his tongue as he probed the gash his teeth left in the inside flesh of his cheek.

"Damn, boy," Repo growled, spitting blood. "You clocked me good. Been a while since I tasted my own blood."

He chuckled darkly as he knelt and began rummaging through his large leather bag. He pulled out his favorite multi-purpose scalpel and held it up, turning it 'round in his hand and lovingly watching the light play off its surfaces.

"I'm going to enjoy watching you die."

The youth rushed him and Repo uncoiled like a striking snake, smashing his left fist, fingers wrapped around his multi-scalpel, into the boy's face. Bones crunched beneath the blow and blood gushed from his nose, filling the humid air with its thick, metallic scent. The boy reeled, hands flying to his broken face. His assailant moved with him, keeping only inches between them, excitement burning in his belly and adrenalin screaming through his veins. He easily deflected a blind swing from the younger man and grabbed his throat with his free hand, roughly shoving him against the cement alley wall and knocking the wind out of him. Blood splattered across the older man's face.

He leered at the boy, teeth bared aggressively, breathing heavily. Repo traced the youth's jawline with his blade, leaving a thin line of red on his skin before splitting the boy's shirt with the longer blade of his scalpel. Pulling open the torn fabric with his knife, he examined the bare torso as blood dripped onto and ran down the hand at his throat.

"Well now," the predator growled, one gloved finger tracing several of the faint scars on the boy's chest and stomach, "seems someone's been lying to me."

"No," the prey gasped, panic starting to creep into his voice. "It's not what you think."

The dark thing chuckled wickedly as he nicked the young man's skin. "That's what they all say."

"Look here, you bastard," he snapped before kneeing his assailant in the groin.

Repo doubled over in pain, releasing his prey, who shoved him away and staggered off down the alley. With a snarl he regained his most of his composure and stalked after the fleeing man. A strong kick to his back sent him tumbling face-first into the filthy concrete. Two quick slashes hamstrung his victim, earning him his first scream. His blood sang at the sound as he shoved the boy onto his back with a booted toe and laid his foot across his throat.

"You're gonna pay for that, you little fucker," he snarled.

"No, please don't. I'm sorry," the young man wheezed, his voice thick with pain and terror. "Please, just let me go. I'll give you whatever you want."

"Stop whining," Repo snapped, giving him a swift kick to the head.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his scalpel-hand as he went to retrieve his bag, limping slightly as he moved. He scooped up the bag and turned back to his prey, a small, icy smile creeping across his blood-stained face. The boy was still trying to escape, pushing himself along backwards, legs dragging uselessly. Repo sauntered back over to his target, dropped the bag next to him, and pushed him back to the pavement with a foot to the chest.

"And where do you think you're going?"

The youth laughed nervously. "Nowhere, obviously."

A smile, a real smile, not the twisted, frozen thing that had previously appeared, crossed his face. You had to hand it to him, the boy had spunk. The Repo man knelt by him and brought his face closer to the other's. Head cocked to one side, he studied the young man.

"You know, it's almost a pity you have to pay," the predator told his prey, his voice sounding almost wistful, his face and eyes softening slightly. A small sigh escaped him before his face turned to ice again.

The boy gasped as his captor's gaze met his. "What the hell is wrong with your eyes?" he sputtered, drawing back an inch or so before being grabbed 'round the jaw.

Repo pulled the youth back closer to him, nicking his cheek. "My eyes?"

"Th-they don't reflect anything."

"What a strange thing to notice," he mused quietly. His eyes flicked to the scarred flesh. "So, what'd you get done, kid? Heart? Kidneys? Liver, spleen, intestines?"

This line of questioning set alarm bells ringing in the part of his mind occupied by his other half. They never started a job without knowing exactly what they were after, never made a mistake, always double-checked the assignment sheet before making the first incision. The Repo man's other half ran through his memories of tonight. One job, female, mid-forties, heart. Another: male, 20, skin grafts, eyes, liver. Dinner. Then... Nothing until the chase began. He forced the hand wrapped around the boy's jaw away and reached for the bag, searching for the assignment sheet.

"Stop that," Repo growled, eyeing his errant hand angrily.

What are you doing? his other half snapped.

"My job. Now be quiet."

The trapped boy looked around, confused. "Who are you talking to?"

"No one. Let's get started, shall we?"

"I already told you, man, I don't have anything for you. It's not what you think."

Repo just shook his head and straddled the youth's hips, pinning his hands to the ground with his knees. The young man gave him a very confused and very terrified look and struggled harder than he had before.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" he all but screamed, panic and fright even stronger in his voice.

"Shh," the Repo man reprimanded, blade laid across his victim's lips.

He chuckled quietly at the boy's reaction to the other man sliding on top of him. It would seem that the idea of potential sexual assault terrified him more so than his impending death. Granted, Repo hadn't been thinking when he'd climbed atop the young man but now... He turned the thoughts 'round in his head as he drew the blade over the boy's throat and down his torso in long, sinuous curves, hard enough to leave a mark but not enough to actually cut.

He is handsome, he mused. Well made, not to mention -

Why are you thinking this? his other half intruded. We're not gay.

I thought I told you to stay quiet, he retorted. You never let me play with that pretty little thing you keep locked away upstairs, or anyone else for that matter... Besides, you know how I get every time we do a job.

It was true. The blood, the screams, the fear... It always left him worked up and nothing seemed to help. He'd tried masturbating before a job in the hope that it would keep him satisfied. No help. Then he tried after he finished the assignment. Hell, he even tried fucking a stiff once. No luck, he just couldn't get off, leaving him to walk home every time with a raging hard-on.

You disgust me.

Repo laughed out loud, startling the young man beneath him. You know, you really should do something about that self-loathing…

He unclasped and peeled off his gloves, dropping them on the cement. Much to his surprise, the boy's already racing heart sped up even more than he thought possible when now-bare hands ran across his chest and stomach. Warm and firm, the flesh beneath his palms felt so, young, so fresh. Repo let out a quiet growl as he felt blood rush south, causing an uncomfortable tightness in his trousers. He moved to relieve the pressure by undoing his pants. His hand stopped halfway of its own volition.

Don't. You. Dare, his other half snarled, a far cry from the usual meek tone he used.

The Repo man roared in frustration and slashed a shallow cut across his victim's stomach, causing him to scream again. Chest heaving and teeth clenched and bared, he struggled to regain his composure. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. When he opened them, the frigid professionalism had returned.

Several quick strokes created a Y-incision over the youth's collarbones and down the center of his chest and stomach. He slipped his still-naked fingers into the cut and pulled the flesh open, yanking muscle away from bone when it stuck. The boy's screams echoed off the alley walls.

"Beautiful," the dark thing murmured, gazing at the exposed organs.

Fascinated, he watched the lungs expand to full capacity, pushing the ribs out around them before collapsing as the boy shrieked. His heart was barely visible beneath the sternum, pounding hell-bent for leather in its pericardium. Rolling his neck and shoulders, Repo plunged his hands into the body cavity and began his grisly work.

The intestines were first, ending up in a slithery pile on the pavement.

Liver, stomach, kidneys.

Blood and bodily fluids coated his hands and welled up underneath the cuffs of his coat.

Bladder, pancreas, spleen.

The warm organs were slick and his grip slipped several times.

Heart and lungs, all of which had ceased to function by the time he reached them.

The last organ dropped to the ground with a wet slap.

The Repo man sat back on his haunches and surveyed the ghastly scene around him: the now-empty shell of the young man, his organs surrounding him on the cement, and the blood. So much blood, splattered on the ground, across the Repo man's leathern coat, covering his hands and face and scalpel. He didn't know when the screaming had stopped and wasn't sure why, whether the boy had screamed himself hoarse, passed out from the pain and fear, or if he had died howling. He supposed it didn't much matter.

Standing stiffly and stretching to ease his strained muscles, Repo drew a hand down his face, smearing even more blood on his already blood- and sweat-streaked skin. He'd gotten blood on his face when he tried to wipe the sweat away and when his scalpel slipped and he accidentally nicked the aorta. He shook his head angrily at the memory. A rookie mistake.

The night surgeon knelt and began giving the rapidly cooling organs a closer inspection. They were good, healthy organs, save for the occasional bit of scarring, and none of them bearing the familiar "GeneCo" barcode. This sent his other half into a screaming panic. Repo grinned. The screams ringing in his head were even sweeter than those that had recently echoed off these walls. He didn't answer any of the questions being thrown at him as he turned the organs 'round in his hands.

Turning over the liver, he frowned at what he saw there: a barcode, different from GeneCo's, and a message reading "Prowdly bring you by JeenCo" tattooed in the flesh beneath it. He quickly rechecked the others. One of the kidneys and the pancreas also bore this mark. Repo grabbed his bag and pulled out one of the clear plastic organ bags, glad he'd brought it along. The fat man would want to see this.

Bag packed and broken mask in hand, he stood and rolled his neck and shoulders again, the bones cracking and popping satisfactorily. Several raindrops plopped on his wet face and the back of his neck as he checked his watch. Only 10 pm. Seemed later. He shrugged. It was always dark in the city, as if the sun was loath to shine on this grungy, decaying hellhole.

His mind a roiling storm, the Repo man moved off silently through the dirty streets. His streets.

Description
He ran, through the dank, filthy alleys, taking quick corners, trying to escape the dark thing following him. The man's increasingly ragged breathing echoed off the grimy stone walls, much to the delight of his pursuer, the Repo man.

His prey was several hundred yards ahead of him, but no matter; the chase always heightened his senses. He could hear the other's footsteps, faltering more and more frequently and making his heart leap with excitement every time it happened. Hell, he could practically taste the fear and bile in the other's mouth, feel the growing panic as his chest began to tighten and burn. The Repo man grinned behind his dark mask in anticipation as he followed, steadily and unerringly.

"Soon," he growled, fingers tightening around the handle of the bag he carried. "So very soon."

The rattle of chainlink and a panicked "Shit!" reached his ears. His heart rate accelerating, the Repo man quickened his pace, his heavy boots eerily silent on the pavement. A left, a right, another right, slip through the hole in the fence halfway down the alley, vault the gutter. He ran the path over in his mind. After hunting in the maze-like alleys of this city for a little over a decade and a half, he knew every twist, every turn, every potential path. He had his clients to thank for that. They ran, they always ran. In the beginning it had made him angry, but as the years wore on he grew to appreciate, anticipate, savor the chase.

He leapt over the gutter, rank with offal, and landed light and silent as a cat before slipping into the shadows. Repo clicked the light in his helmet off, letting him disappear completely in the blackness. He paused at the entrance to the dead-end, listening intently to the mad scrabbling of his target as he tried every door, each one shut and locked tight. The inhabitants of this city knew better than to come between the dark thing and his prey.

It was a wonder the horror could hear anything over the thundering of his heart in his ears, but hear he did: the frantic mutterings and scraping footsteps of the doomed man, clear as a bell. Had anyone the misfortune of seeing the grin twisting the predator's face, their blood would have frozen in their veins.

The Repo man located his victim and slunk into the dead-end, keeping to the shadows, not that it was difficult to stay out of the grungy, flickering red-neon light. Circling 'round behind him, Repo got his first good look at his victim. Tall, broad, muscular, and not much more than twenty, he didn't look much like the normal denizens of the decaying city. As the boy possessed neither the strung-out look and haphazardly pieced-together clothing of a street Zydrate junkie nor the false, strained feature of a highborn scalpel slut, the Repo man wondered if perhaps he was from one of the rare rural areas lucky enough to have been missed by the organ failures.

The monster shook the thought from his head. That was something he would let his other half worry about. He scoffed silently. His other half. A weak, sentimental fool who lacked the stomach to do his job. Their job now.

Repo stole closer to the man. No matter where he was from, he would prove a challenge, something that excited him to no end. Closer, closer, sturdy boots still silent on the street. Every step made his heart race faster, brought the other into clearer focus. He could hear the tired wheeze in his lungs, smell the sweat from his run and the offal farther down the alley. The fear and apprehension hung heavily in the air, already thick with humidity from the imminent rain. Sweat ran down the back of Repo's neck as he stopped a few scant inches behind his victim. He reached up and clicked the light in his mask back on, the creak of leather and electric hum of the light alerting his prey to his presence.

The man jumped nearly out of his skin and spun to face his stalker, stumbling back a few steps in the process. The Repo man's grin wavered, fearing this one would be like all the others: pathetic, pleading, routine. Then the boy regained his footing and straightened, his fists clenched and his chin out in defiance. The smirk returned and his hand tightened even more around his bag handle, the knuckles white within the black gloves.

"I know what you are," the youth snapped, "and I have nothing for you. Leave me alone."

This threw him for a moment. Begging, threatening, bargaining: all these he was used to. But true defiance? This was new, and it sent thrills down his spine. The Repo man took an intimidating step toward the young man. Nothing. Not a flinch, not even a blink: nothing, except perhaps for a slight tightening in the muscles of his jaw. Repo drew himself up to his full height and took another step.

The boy swung a fist, catching him in the left side of his mask and smashing it into his face, cracking the visor. Repo staggered, his bag hitting the pavement with a heavy thud. He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his vision as his would-be victim dropped into a defensive stance. He pulled his helmet off, gave the cracked Plexiglas a disgusted look, and tossed it to the ground before turning his now-bare gaze to the other. He brought a gloved hand up and laid it gently on his cheek, pain lancing from the soon-to-be bruised skin at the feather-light touch. The salty, metallic taste of blood trickled across his tongue as he probed the gash his teeth left in the inside flesh of his cheek.

"Damn, boy," Repo growled, spitting blood. "You clocked me good. Been a while since I tasted my own blood."

He chuckled darkly as he knelt and began rummaging through his large leather bag. He pulled out his favorite multi-purpose scalpel and held it up, turning it 'round in his hand and lovingly watching the light play off its surfaces.

"I'm going to enjoy watching you die."

The youth rushed him and Repo uncoiled like a striking snake, smashing his left fist, fingers wrapped around his multi-scalpel, into the boy's face. Bones crunched beneath the blow and blood gushed from his nose, filling the humid air with its thick, metallic scent. The boy reeled, hands flying to his broken face. His assailant moved with him, keeping only inches between them, excitement burning in his belly and adrenalin screaming through his veins. He easily deflected a blind swing from the younger man and grabbed his throat with his free hand, roughly shoving him against the cement alley wall and knocking the wind out of him. Blood splattered across the older man's face.

He leered at the boy, teeth bared aggressively, breathing heavily. Repo traced the youth's jawline with his blade, leaving a thin line of red on his skin before splitting the boy's shirt with the longer blade of his scalpel. Pulling open the torn fabric with his knife, he examined the bare torso as blood dripped onto and ran down the hand at his throat.

"Well now," the predator growled, one gloved finger tracing several of the faint scars on the boy's chest and stomach, "seems someone's been lying to me."

"No," the prey gasped, panic starting to creep into his voice. "It's not what you think."

The dark thing chuckled wickedly as he nicked the young man's skin. "That's what they all say."

"Look here, you bastard," he snapped before kneeing his assailant in the groin.

Repo doubled over in pain, releasing his prey, who shoved him away and staggered off down the alley. With a snarl he regained his most of his composure and stalked after the fleeing man. A strong kick to his back sent him tumbling face-first into the filthy concrete. Two quick slashes hamstrung his victim, earning him his first scream. His blood sang at the sound as he shoved the boy onto his back with a booted toe and laid his foot across his throat.

"You're gonna pay for that, you little fucker," he snarled.

"No, please don't. I'm sorry," the young man wheezed, his voice thick with pain and terror. "Please, just let me go. I'll give you whatever you want."

"Stop whining," Repo snapped, giving him a swift kick to the head.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his scalpel-hand as he went to retrieve his bag, limping slightly as he moved. He scooped up the bag and turned back to his prey, a small, icy smile creeping across his blood-stained face. The boy was still trying to escape, pushing himself along backwards, legs dragging uselessly. Repo sauntered back over to his target, dropped the bag next to him, and pushed him back to the pavement with a foot to the chest.

"And where do you think you're going?"

The youth laughed nervously. "Nowhere, obviously."

A smile, a real smile, not the twisted, frozen thing that had previously appeared, crossed his face. You had to hand it to him, the boy had spunk. The Repo man knelt by him and brought his face closer to the other's. Head cocked to one side, he studied the young man.

"You know, it's almost a pity you have to pay," the predator told his prey, his voice sounding almost wistful, his face and eyes softening slightly. A small sigh escaped him before his face turned to ice again.

The boy gasped as his captor's gaze met his. "What the hell is wrong with your eyes?" he sputtered, drawing back an inch or so before being grabbed 'round the jaw.

Repo pulled the youth back closer to him, nicking his cheek. "My eyes?"

"Th-they don't reflect anything."

"What a strange thing to notice," he mused quietly. His eyes flicked to the scarred flesh. "So, what'd you get done, kid? Heart? Kidneys? Liver, spleen, intestines?"

This line of questioning set alarm bells ringing in the part of his mind occupied by his other half. They never started a job without knowing exactly what they were after, never made a mistake, always double-checked the assignment sheet before making the first incision. The Repo man's other half ran through his memories of tonight. One job, female, mid-forties, heart. Another: male, 20, skin grafts, eyes, liver. Dinner. Then... Nothing until the chase began. He forced the hand wrapped around the boy's jaw away and reached for the bag, searching for the assignment sheet.

"Stop that," Repo growled, eyeing his errant hand angrily.

What are you doing? his other half snapped.

"My job. Now be quiet."

The trapped boy looked around, confused. "Who are you talking to?"

"No one. Let's get started, shall we?"

"I already told you, man, I don't have anything for you. It's not what you think."

Repo just shook his head and straddled the youth's hips, pinning his hands to the ground with his knees. The young man gave him a very confused and very terrified look and struggled harder than he had before.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" he all but screamed, panic and fright even stronger in his voice.

"Shh," the Repo man reprimanded, blade laid across his victim's lips.

He chuckled quietly at the boy's reaction to the other man sliding on top of him. It would seem that the idea of potential sexual assault terrified him more so than his impending death. Granted, Repo hadn't been thinking when he'd climbed atop the young man but now... He turned the thoughts 'round in his head as he drew the blade over the boy's throat and down his torso in long, sinuous curves, hard enough to leave a mark but not enough to actually cut.

He is handsome, he mused. Well made, not to mention -

Why are you thinking this? his other half intruded. We're not gay.

I thought I told you to stay quiet, he retorted. You never let me play with that pretty little thing you keep locked away upstairs, or anyone else for that matter... Besides, you know how I get every time we do a job.

It was true. The blood, the screams, the fear... It always left him worked up and nothing seemed to help. He'd tried masturbating before a job in the hope that it would keep him satisfied. No help. Then he tried after he finished the assignment. Hell, he even tried fucking a stiff once. No luck, he just couldn't get off, leaving him to walk home every time with a raging hard-on.

You disgust me.

Repo laughed out loud, startling the young man beneath him. You know, you really should do something about that self-loathing…

He unclasped and peeled off his gloves, dropping them on the cement. Much to his surprise, the boy's already racing heart sped up even more than he thought possible when now-bare hands ran across his chest and stomach. Warm and firm, the flesh beneath his palms felt so, young, so fresh. Repo let out a quiet growl as he felt blood rush south, causing an uncomfortable tightness in his trousers. He moved to relieve the pressure by undoing his pants. His hand stopped halfway of its own volition.

Don't. You. Dare, his other half snarled, a far cry from the usual meek tone he used.

The Repo man roared in frustration and slashed a shallow cut across his victim's stomach, causing him to scream again. Chest heaving and teeth clenched and bared, he struggled to regain his composure. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. When he opened them, the frigid professionalism had returned.

Several quick strokes created a Y-incision over the youth's collarbones and down the center of his chest and stomach. He slipped his still-naked fingers into the cut and pulled the flesh open, yanking muscle away from bone when it stuck. The boy's screams echoed off the alley walls.

"Beautiful," the dark thing murmured, gazing at the exposed organs.

Fascinated, he watched the lungs expand to full capacity, pushing the ribs out around them before collapsing as the boy shrieked. His heart was barely visible beneath the sternum, pounding hell-bent for leather in its pericardium. Rolling his neck and shoulders, Repo plunged his hands into the body cavity and began his grisly work.

The intestines were first, ending up in a slithery pile on the pavement.

Liver, stomach, kidneys.

Blood and bodily fluids coated his hands and welled up underneath the cuffs of his coat.

Bladder, pancreas, spleen.

The warm organs were slick and his grip slipped several times.

Heart and lungs, all of which had ceased to function by the time he reached them.

The last organ dropped to the ground with a wet slap.

The Repo man sat back on his haunches and surveyed the ghastly scene around him: the now-empty shell of the young man, his organs surrounding him on the cement, and the blood. So much blood, splattered on the ground, across the Repo man's leathern coat, covering his hands and face and scalpel. He didn't know when the screaming had stopped and wasn't sure why, whether the boy had screamed himself hoarse, passed out from the pain and fear, or if he had died howling. He supposed it didn't much matter.

Standing stiffly and stretching to ease his strained muscles, Repo drew a hand down his face, smearing even more blood on his already blood- and sweat-streaked skin. He'd gotten blood on his face when he tried to wipe the sweat away and when his scalpel slipped and he accidentally nicked the aorta. He shook his head angrily at the memory. A rookie mistake.

The night surgeon knelt and began giving the rapidly cooling organs a closer inspection. They were good, healthy organs, save for the occasional bit of scarring, and none of them bearing the familiar "GeneCo" barcode. This sent his other half into a screaming panic. Repo grinned. The screams ringing in his head were even sweeter than those that had recently echoed off these walls. He didn't answer any of the questions being thrown at him as he turned the organs 'round in his hands.

Turning over the liver, he frowned at what he saw there: a barcode, different from GeneCo's, and a message reading "Prowdly bring you by JeenCo" tattooed in the flesh beneath it. He quickly rechecked the others. One of the kidneys and the pancreas also bore this mark. Repo grabbed his bag and pulled out one of the clear plastic organ bags, glad he'd brought it along. The fat man would want to see this.

Bag packed and broken mask in hand, he stood and rolled his neck and shoulders again, the bones cracking and popping satisfactorily. Several raindrops plopped on his wet face and the back of his neck as he checked his watch. Only 10 pm. Seemed later. He shrugged. It was always dark in the city, as if the sun was loath to shine on this grungy, decaying hellhole.

His mind a roiling storm, the Repo man moved off silently through the dirty streets. His streets.