An Angel's Reign in Hell
Summary: When Shilo leaves the Opera, she doesn't return to the prison she has known all her life but to her one, unlikely friend. Together they hunt, collecting Zydrate until someone from the Graverobber's past returns looking for revenge.
A/N: I don't know if the GR had a real name or if he was just known as the GR the whole time so forgive me if I get his name wrong.
The city was gushing with lifeless, monotonous noise. Cameras flashed and reporters scampered at the chance for an interview with the mysterious young girl who had stolen the show. Shilo paid them no attention nor allowed them the joy of grabbing her story first. It was hers and no one else could have it. She made her way down the streets, wondering where she was to go next.
She couldn't possibly return to the prison she had known her whole life, especially if her father wouldn't be there. The house would be deathly, lifeless, and ruined without him. She couldn't go back there…instead, she turned down the alley behind the theater. Dumpsters lined the brick walls, leaking with grotesqueness. She gagged at the smell and continued to walk.
Shilo turned to see the familiar pale face standing a mere few feet from her. The purple lips were upturned into a curling grin.
"Grave-Robber!" Shilo let a gasp of breath escape her lips, "What are you doing here?"
"I am everywhere, darling," the grin spread wider as he brushed a strand of grease-plastered hair from his forehead, "The question is, what are you doing here? This is a pretty long way from that fancy little home of yours, isn't it?"
"I came to the opera," Shilo paused, unsure if she should share with him what had just happened.
As if to answer her question, the Grave-Robber nodded, "And?"
"And Rotti was there – they all where and so was my father. He was the…he was the Repo Man. Rotti wanted me to murder him. He said if I killed my father, he would give me the cure to my disease. I couldn't do it. How could I? I said some terrible things to my father, I said he was dead to me…"
"Aren't we all?" The Graverobber asked absentmindedly.
"Aren't we all what?" Shilo asked impatiently.
"Aren't we all dead?"
Shilo shook her head, confused by his words, "Rotti killed my father. He shot him. There was nothing I could do. I have nowhere to go and no one to turn to…"
"Sure you do," the Grave-Robber sneered, "You could come with me. I need an extra hand at my job. You might be able to help me raise the production rate if you get what I mean. Two people are better than one. Twice the amount of zydrate in the same amount of time. It's brilliant! But…"
"What?" Shilo urged.
"Well…I've only ever worked alone. You won't slow me down or anything with that infection or whatever it is, will you? I can't have that – no, no good at all."
"I'll be fine. I have medicine..." Shilo paused, remembering now that her father was gone, she had no medicine. How was she supposed to get it, she didn't know how to make it.
"Hmm…on the black-market, there's tons of meds. You might find what you need."
"I am not promising anything, darling but there might be something for you. So, what do you say? You in?"
"I don't really know…I mean, I've never really been one to hang out around a bunch of dead bodies for a living and I…"
"Needle through a bug," the Grave-Robber reminded her.
"Right," Shilo nodded, "Sure. But I just don't know. Is this safe? What if I get caught?"
"You're with me, darling. I won't let you get caught."
"You have before," Shilo reminded, "Remember when you screamed your occupation at the top of your lungs and almost got us killed?"
"That was once!" the Grave-Robber exaggerated a sense of hurt at her accusation, "You don't think I'll take care of you? I won't but I won't let you go and get yourself killed either. Don't want that on my hands. No, no good at all."
Shilo bit her lower lip, "If I say yes, will you promise me you won't do anything daring like scream at the graveyard or anything like that?"
"I don't promise, I lie," Grave-Robber seethed, "You're going to have to watch out for yourself and take care of yourself. If I wanted a kid, I'd have had one."
"Understandable," Shilo agreed, "Besides, I'm not looking for a caretaker. Just a…" she searched for the word.
"Yeah," she nodded, "A companion."
"The name's Michael by the way."
"I know," he paused for a moment before smirking and playfully adding, "Think I could be a poet?"
"Doubt it," Shilo smirked.
"Come one," Michael's eyes lit up excitedly, "I have someplace to show you!"
Shilo had to run to keep up with him as Michael skip-walked (because there was no other way to describe the way he moved) down the alley. It was hard to stay with him and as they got closer and closer to wherever he was taking her, Shilo noticed more and more people. They lined the walls, one foot resting on the wall behind them, arms crossed, eyes in a drugged daze, faces scarred. Shilo turned away from the world she did not know nor want to take part in.
"Where are we going?" She asked persistently.
"Somewhere. You ask too many question. Might have to work on that if you're planning on staying."
Shilo didn't want him to throw her out, she had nowhere to go and knew no one but him. He was her only option and there was no way she was going to be kicked out for asking too many questions. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed him – for now at least.
"We're almost there, love. You'll like this. It's so free, so unbinding. You can just…fly."
Shilo's brow creased with worry but she shook the fear from her head. She'd have to trust Michael if she was planning to stay. She needed shelter and needed someone until she was able to find something else more suitable. She'd just have to deal with whatever he was about to show her.
Suddenly, they found themselves standing outside a beat-up wooden door whose paint was peeling and scarred with dents. Shilo winced as Michael took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Yup, this is where he wanted to show her and there was no turning back now.
"What do you think?" Michael asked, allowing Shilo a moment to glance around.
The place was small and the wooden floors were scuffed and stained. The walls bore permanent marks of God-knew-what. There was a sink piled high with dirty dishes and a couch with stuffing falling out of a hole. There was a television along one wall and a cot on one side of the room. The stench was unbearable and Shilo tried not to cover her nose – that would be rude. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt his feelings – supposing, of course, that he had feelings.
"What is this place?" Shilo asked, though she knew the answer.
"Home," was the only reply, "Welcome home, Shilo."