"Repoman, Repoman!" The speakers blared the alert over the whole sector of the city as doors slammed and locked. Black neoprene glistened under the glare of the moonlight. Gloved hands anxious to hold the tools of their trade clutched at the air waiting for the inevitable running figure to emerge from the darkness.

When no such figure appeared the hands were dragged from their perch as the crouched form of a man leapt to the cracked asphalt below. Eyes illuminated by the blue glow of the helmet's lighting were the only signs of life inside the black suit. They searched carefully, looking for the signs that would point the hands to their hidden mark: An out of place object, a piece of wayward fabric, the ghost of a breath hanging in the cold, still air. All these fragments leading to the whole and inescapable conclusion.

The hands tore the lungs free, striking expertly to cut out the designer heart. They worked carefully to keep the external heart-shaped light intact. The eyes were sceptical and the man inside the suit wondered why anyone would want a designer heart in the first place, let alone one that lit up.

The refuse truck rolled by and the hands tossed the body in, saluted the driver and gathered their tools. Now they were eager to collect their pay and return home to rest.