Disclaimer: I own Repo! *is shot in face*

Author's Note: Another stupid idea I got that I wrote in all of ten minutes. Gahh. I'm so lazy sometimes.


Once, he'd been someone.

Hard to believe, wasn't it?

His name…well, he didn't remember his name. But he liked to imagine it was something classy like William, or David, or Terrance.

He'd had a family, too; he remembers this well enough. A nice family, not too big, and not too small. Just right. Mother, Father, Sister. And him.

He remembered being small and soft and chubby, having his cheeks pinched and warm faces pressing against his.

He remembered the Big House, the house he constantly looks for when he roams the dark alley ways and side streets. The house with the clean, polished fence and the well-manicured lawn.

But more important to him than all of that was the fact that, once upon a time, he'd been loved.

Not for Zydrate.

Or for bad sex.

For him.

Someone, somewhere, had liked him for who and what he what he was. And that was more precious to him than any amount of creds.

Once, he'd been going somewhere.

He'd played an instrument. The Violin. He remembered being pretty damn good, too.

"You're good," Sister had praised him once. He'd blushed back then, but now he looked back on that moment with a feeling of cold contempt.

He remembered sitting in his room, instrument firmly set beneath his chin, stroking the cool, dark wood. The other brats had hooted and jeered at him as he played on his window.

"Pansy!" they snickered. "Gay boy! Queer! I heard Pavi's looking for you!"

He took satisfaction now from the thought that those same boys were probably buried somewhere beneath the concrete.

And one day, he'd gotten an offer. GeneCo representatives had come knocking after hearing of his talent, and offered him a contract. "A lifetime with GeneCo, a lifetime of happiness." they'd said. "And reduced surgery costs for your family members." they'd added, with a glance at his mother.

He'd said no. "I don't want to be a violinist," he'd weakly murmured, shuffling and looking down at his feet. "I want to be a doctor."

They told him it was the worst decision of his life. His mother wouldn't look at him for weeks.

Personally, he thought it was the best thing he could have ever done.

And that was saying something.

Once Upon a Time, he hadn't always been street scum.

But as he laid on the grimy flea-infested mattress, drowning out the snores of the cracked-out prostitute beside him, he couldn't help but sneer.

"But that was once upon a time."