Sometimes, it was beautiful. At night, when shadows hid the filth of the gutters, and colored lights lit up the sky. This city of the dead was a cesspool in the daytime; crime and sin limned in the few rays of the sun that extended through the fog. No wonder the upper class preferred to emerge from their high-rise apartments only when the moon had risen. In the darkness it is easier to persist in denial of one's failed responsibility in the world's destruction.
For the poor and the depraved, the alleys of the Lower City were job and market. Trading bodies and souls along with coin for goods and services. This early morning one notable presence was absent- the man only known as the graverobber.
Amber Sweet had dried up his supply the previous night. The Geneco slut was insatiable in her vices. If Graverobber hadn't been so practically-minded, he might've ceased exchanging... 'services' with the bitch. But it amused him to see the wealthy brought down so low. If this amusement cost him more hours dodging security in cemeteries and crematoriums, he considered the risk worth it.
Dropping a weeks-old corpse back on the pile of bodies, Graverobber rose and exchanged a newly-filled vial of street Zydrate for an empty one. A heavy hand on his shoulder made him spin and drop into a defensive crouch.
"Bastard," he said, recognizing the tall figure standing there. The man in the mask chuckled as Graverobber searched the rotting flesh for the fallen glass tube. "You don't see me making your job harder."
"Indeed. The last three reposessions I've done have been from assholes too zoned out on that glowing shit to have been much fun. I prefer... a bit of fight!" The Repoman made a grab for the outlaw only to find himself with a handful of putrefying flesh of a female corpse and the graverobber a few steps away.
"Then let us brawl!" Graverobber grinned and lunged, but the slick material of the Repoman's costume deflected most of his attack. No matter; they had done this before, and the graverobber knew that improvised blunt weapons- such as this brick, here- slammed into knees and the torso- "Ooomph!"- were the most effective tactics.
Eventually, a kick to the head made the drug dealer's ears ring and his vision dim. "Gotcha!" hissed the Night Surgeon in triumph, and he hauled the man into the privacy of a mausoleum.
Graverobber lay on the stone floor, amused, as his opponent yanked off his thick gloves and removed his mask. "The oddest definition of foreplay..." he muttered.
"Get up and help me get all this off," the Repoman ordered. The outlaw smiled, shook his head, and complied.
"It's been so long," the unmasked hitman grunted as his hard cock was freed.
"Months," Graverobber agreed, before going down on the man.
Not too long after, they were both sitting on the cool stones.
"Was it, ah, good for you?" the older man asked tentatively.
As with every time, the graverobber mused over the difference of the Repoman's voice before and after orgasm. He generally preferred the gruff, crude assertions of the man in the assassin's uniform, but supposed that the cultured and courteous manner wasn't too bad. "Fine," he exhaled, before standing and shrugging his coat on. "See you next time."
"...Next time," Nathan echoed in agreement as the man left. He could feel the customary guilt waiting to ambush him when the afterglow faded. But, hell; he was a lonely man. This casual run-into-each-other-and-fuck arrangement he had somehow made with this unknown drug pusher was convenient. He was hardly in the position to have a relationship, with his daughter and his double life. He couldn't look at another woman after Marni. And the fighting and sordidness of it excited him when in his Night Surgeon role. It might not be what he wanted, but it was what he had.
"This was the last time," Nathan promised himself as he buckled his uniform back on.
He knew it was a lie.
With seven vials full of glowing blue fluid, and his itch scratched for the time being, the graverobber whistled as he made his way back to the downtown alleys.