The graveyard was quiet at this time of night; Graverobber, however, was not.

A sudden loud noise and a sharp yelp disrupted your somber thoughts. To your right, a fresh grave had just collapsed under a man who was... digging it up? Yeah, the shovel was right there, sticking out of the ground, and if someone was digging up a fresh grave at night, it could only mean one thing: he was a graverobber. The owner of said shovel crawled out of the dirt and rose to his feet, spitting out grave muck and shaking the soil out of his long brown hair. His black lipstick was smeared all over his corpse-pale face, but he seemed to care about it just as much as he cared about your presence.

Stupid grave collapsed on me as I was digging the body up. His tone was matter-of-fact, as if digging up bodies was some regular activity akin to taking a walk. Shrugging, he pulled open his leather coat to reveal long rows of zydrate vials lining the inside, some full, others empty. With meticulous precision he began checking each vial for damage, all the while talking to you like he knew you for years. Nothing like falling head first into a grave to kill the mood for a late night graverobbing. Whew, looks like my business bears no losses today, only one vial broken, and I never liked that particular one anyways. The broken vial twinkled in the moonlight, landing right into the defiled grave as the man threw it away. Then he finally looked at you and smiled. What are you doing here at this hour, anyways? The living ones are supposed to be asleep right now.