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[Fic] Bitch, Payback: Part 3

Sorry this has been so long in coming. I just re-watched Repo! The Genetic Opera the other night after not seeing it for almost 8 months. I forgot how much I love this movie! As a person with a chronic illness (well, condition, not so much an illness) I totally relate to Shilo. It's scary how well the song "Infected" mirrors my life sometimes... :P

Alternatively titled: "With a Little Help From My Friends." -or- "A Leg Up."

Author: Semenkhare
Fandom: Repo! The Genetic Opera
Summary: Seriously injured in a raid gone wrong, Graverobber faces some tough choices.
Author's Notes: I'm not sure if this is a horror or a comedy, but whatever it is, it's really fucking weird. Terrance Zdunich, if you are reading this, I am SO sorry.
This story is dedicated to lemonee_wonder, who encouraged me to write it, and put up with me speculating about the weirder aspects of it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Repo! The Genetic Opera. No profit is being made from this.



“What?” asked Shilo.

“Heron, you can't be serious,” Leslie agreed.

“Look!” said the surgeon, indicating the leg in question. “Look at the tourniquet he tied. It's perfect – it saved his life. But he's had it on too long. Look at his toes – they're fucking blue. It's too late.”

“You know he'll never consent to that,” Leslie said.

By now, Graverobber was starting to come to. “What?” he asked blearily. “Consent to what?”

Heron paused, and for one terrible second Shilo thought that she wasn't going to tell him about his leg; just dope him up on Zydrate and amputate. But the moment passed and the surgeon leaned close.

“What do you remember?”

He groaned. “Not much. GENEcops. The graveyard. It was a trap.”

“You got shot,” she finished.

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes closing. “I'll be okay. S'not the first time.”

“Open your eyes,” Heron said. “You are not okay. Your leg is dying and it's going to kill you unless I do something right now.”

That got his attention and he opened his eyes again. “Do what?” he asked.

“Graves...” she faltered. “I need to amputate. I'm sorry.”

“No,” he said. “Heron, no.”

“Yeah.”

“No! I'd rather die.”

“Don't you fucking talk like that,” Heron snapped. “You know you're too important to die. Please, Graves,” she implored. “Think of Shilo. You can't die and leave her all alone.”

That got his attention. The mortally-injured graverobber shifted his gaze from the surgeon over to the girl who stood still in the corner near the door, frozen there with horror. He swallowed. Closed his eyes. Swallowed again.

“All right,” he whispered at last.

No! Shilo wanted to scream. There has to be another way! This cannot be happening!

“Good choice,” Heron said, her whole demeanour changing at once. Now she was all business, the consummate surgeon. “Where's your gun, then, and I'll put you out.”

“No,” he said. “No Zydrate.”

“You cannot be serious,” the surgeon said, dumbfounded. “Are you insane?!”

“Maybe,” he said. “But I've never taken a hit, and I'm not starting now.”

Heron hesitated, obviously debating the ethics of operating on a conscious patient. But one look at her leg seemed to confirm in her mind that there was no more room for discussing this. They were running out of time.

“It's your choice,” she said at last. “Leslie, Louis – grab his shoulders. Hold him down.”

Shilo shivered at the older woman's words. She watched in mute horror as Heron place a sheet under his leg, then retreated to the other room to retrieve her kit. She returned moments later, a look of dread on her face. This cannot be happening, Shilo thought. It's a dream, a nightmare, it has to be!

But it was all too clearly real. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as Heron opened her kit and selected a wickedly sharp blade – Is that the same kind of blade my father used?! - and she swore she could almost hear her long – forsaken wristcomm urging her in its impassionate voice to medicate immediately. She almost wished she would faint, because it would save her from having to witness what came next.

As Heron's blade bit into his leg, Graverobber screamed, and it was a sound unlike any she had ever heard before. Is this what my father's prey sounded like, in their last moments? He tried to jerk up off the couch – turned – operating table, but Louis and Leslie held him down firmly.

“Heron, stop,” he begged. “I've changed my mind, I don't want this, please stop!”

The surgeon didn't respond.

“Heron!” the graverobber tried again, his plea degenerating into another wordless scream.

Heron did look up this time, at Leslie, who nodded and pressed something to Graverobber's neck. Shilo heard the distinct hiss of a Zydrate gun, and then he went limp. She felt her stomach begin to turn, and knew she couldn't stay in there much longer. She turned and ran out the door, Graverobber's agonized screams still ringing in her ears.