Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Enjin really sucked at driving. Such was an unfortunate fact that Zanka had gotten used to and learned to deal with, as had every other member of the team, with the notable exception of their newest member. With every pitch and sharp turn Rudo was jostled around from his spot in the middle seat, more than once accidentally — at least it had better be accidentally— shoving his absurdly sharp elbows into Zanka's side, and it was really starting to piss him off.

They'd been driving for a while now, and the landscape around them had mellowed out into what looked like rolling hills. It would be almost picturesque if they weren't made entitely of garbage. Though Zanka imagined for Rudo that probably just made them even better.

Semiu had informed them about multiple reports of burrowing trash beasts in an area outside a small town, and had sent team Akuta to investigate and dispose of them. A routine mission, and sending six of them was probably overkill, but with the area being more remote, and the trash beasts' behavior being slightly abnormal, they'd decided it was better to be safe than sorry. Especially since there had been a notable uptick in false reports set as traps by raiders (a certain sharp smile and clawed hand came to mind and Zanka tried to banish the thought as soon as it appeared, hating the feeling that seemed to consume him from the inside out whenever he thought too hard about the raider. A feeling he refused to look into because obviously it was simply hatred. obviously). 

He looked away from the window and over at Enjin, who, apart from driving like living was going out of style, seemed to be having a grand old time singing off-key to the radio in between light conversation with Gris. Asshole. An asshole he admired and owed his life to, but still. A particularly large bump threw an unprepared Rudo up in the air where his skull clocked painfully against Zankas chin, nearly making him bite his own tongue off. Was this kids head made of metal or what??

""Oh for fucks- would ya stop that!" he snapped.

"HUH?! It's not my fault that turdface drives like a maniac, take it up with him!"

"And yet yer the only one flying around the damn car!"

He could see Rudo getting geared up to yell some more and mentally prepared himself for the headache it would no doubt cause him, before a flash of red hair caught his peripheral vision and Riyo, who had been lounging across the backseat, now leaned over and threaded her fingers through Rudo's hair as she yawned. The sharp contrast seemingly caused Rudo to bluescreen as he froze mid gesture and just blinked, mouth slightly agape like a fish, anger paused. The sight almost made Zanka snort, but he was still annoyed, so he just rolled his eyes and went back to looking out the window. Enjin however, had no such reservations and barked out a loud laugh at the sight, looking at them through the rearview mirror. Zanka really wished he'd keep his eyes on the road. To Rudo's left, Follo gave a small sigh of relief at the visible diversion of an argument, and although Zanka couldnt see Gris from where he was sitting he could imagine the soft smile on his face.  The kid really wasn't used to casual affection, and Riyo especially playing with his hair seemed to be a weak point of his.

"Your hair's getting pretty long y'know, I think you're probably due for a trim soon." remarked Riyo as she mimed cutting it with two fingers. Rudo sputtered, and pulled his head away before bringing his gloved hands up to grab a lock, looking at it contemplatively.

"I guess.." he muttered, and Riyo smiled.

"If it gets too much longer it'll start getting in your eyes when you fight, and trust me that's no good. I'll cut it for you when we get back!" she chirped with a thumbs up. Zanka exhaled a small laugh through his nose, knowing how much Riyo loved cutting hair, and how Rudo's hair specifially, with its snow white roots and permanantly blackened tips,  seemed to fascinate her.

"How benevolent of you." he hummed with a slight grin, an action Riyo returned easily.

"Hey I'm just looking out for my team, what can I say?" She gave him a look that landed somewhere between appraising and mischevious. "Y'know, you're probably in need of a trim too Zanka, I know you've got that whole emo thing going but at a certain point its gonna impair your vision." she said with a wink. Enjins laughter, which had just died down, started up again as a wheeze. He could feel a vein in his forehead starting to make itself known but ultimately decided not to rise to the bait (an active choice on his part, and absolutely not because he couldnt think of a retort that didn't sound childish).

Luckily, he was saved by them apparently arriving at their destination – despite the surrounding area looking the same as it had for the last 10 minutes of driving since they passed the town, but whatever – and the car slowed down before finally, blissfully, creeping to a full stop. Enjins cheerful "We're here!" causing multiple eyerolls and a quiet "Thank god.." from Follo. They all strapped on their half-masks before loading out of the car, taking the chance to stretch and look around.

...Yep, trash. As far as the eye could see. And notably, no trash beasts in sight, though if they were the kind that lived underground Zanka guessed it made sense, though the knowledge didnt do much to cure his slight sense of unease. He wasn't a fan of trash beasts by any means but he'd happily prefer them to a raider ambush any day of the week. 

Metal on metal crashing, sparking. A feral, bloody grin and a desperately violent look he knew was echoed in his own eyes-

He shook his head, banishing the thoughts. He needed to focus on the mission. Riyo caught his eye and raised a single eyebrow, a silent "you good?" passing between them. He took a breath and gave her a nod in response, and her gaze lingered on him for a half second more, then went back to looking around, seemingly satasfied for now, though Zanka had the nagging feeling she'd be bugging him about it later. If there was one thing he did appreciate about Riyo though, it was her discretion. Well, discretion about some things. They had a mutual understanding about the things they liked to hide, and where his mask was one of cold aloofness, hers was an almost agressively easygoing joviality and flirtiness. On the rare occasions when things got too heavy, when cracks started to appear, they'd find each other in the quiet hours of the night and just talk, usually accompanied by a mug of green tea and spicy hot chocolate respectively, until the sun came up. And then, the next day, they would act like it never happened. It helped, the liminality of it all making it easier to separate that Zanka from who he wanted to be. And he imagined it was the same for her. 

"Keep your eyes peeled gang, the main nest should be around here somewhere." Enjins voice broke him out of his thoughts. Man, he really needed to get it together today. 

They branched out slowly, the hills making it easy to get vantage points when they found a tall one, while also doing a worryingly good job of obsuring their vision when they were in the valleys between them. He'd have to try and keep the high ground when they started fighting. If they started fighting. He still hadnt seen a single trash beast. The silence was quickly becoming unnerving, and Zanka couldn't help but think about how easy it would be for someone to hide behind one of the many hills, watching them and waiting to pounce. The thought made his skin crawl and he subtly kept his head on a swivel, grip tight on his Lovely Assistaff as she thrummed beneath his hands. After a bit of walking, Gris paused and turned around towards the group, scratching his head.

"Okay I thi-" He was suddenly cut off by the ground exploding under him as everyone yelled, a  large trash beast pulling itself out of the ground with a roar, sending debris flying everywhere. Gris's quick reflexes had saved him, jumping back out of range with only a slight stumble. 

"Okay, well that solves that I guess!" he yelled with a slightly nervous laugh. 
The trash beast was relatively small for such a remote area, probably just a bit bigger than their car. nowhere near as large as the goliaths that roamed no-mans-land, but still bigger than the ones that liked to travel in hoards near the cities. It was shaped like a giant mole, with hands that boasted terrifyingly sharp white claws (nope don't think about it do NOT think about it) no doubt meant for digging, but with the bony head and long jaw of a crocodile. Its eyes, solitary burning lights in empty sockets, turned to the closest person near it, which happened to be Zanka, and charged, the grating sound of its call echoing off the walls of trash surrounding them. Great. Zanka burst into action, dodging a swipe with a spin and using that momentum to slam his assistaff into the things side, knocking it over and exposing its underbelly, where Riyo immediately swooped in and buried her trusty scissors into its gut with a low kick before it could move. The thing made one final screech and writhed around pathetically before going limp as it started to collapse back into junk. A moment of silence echoed around the group as they all waited for something more.

"...Okay, that was way too easy, right?" Riyo questioned, standing up. 

"Oh you SO just jinxed us" Enjin replied with a grin, only to be immediately proven right as the ground shook beneath all of them, making them stumble slightly and get a better grip on their weapons before trash beasts started bursting out of the ground in all directions. They looked the same as the one they'd just beaten, except for the fact that they were all maybe twice its size and somehow looked way more pissed. And they just kept coming. He could hear them clawing their way out of the trash in areas he couldnt even see. Ugh, what a pain. Enjin twirled his now transformed Umbreaker in his hand, grin still on his face.

"Alright everyone, seems they brought the whole community out just for us, ain't that nice? Let's give them a good show." And then they were off. 

It wasn't often they all got to fight together, and Zanka quickly realized he'd missed it. They worked seamlessly together, supporter and giver alike hitting, trading, and dodging as they quickly whittled down the enemy's numbers. It was a song and dance they were all used to at this point, and even Rudo, who was comparitively so new, was matching their tempo perfectly, swinging around what looked to be some type of sword gracelessly but with enough speed and force that it didn't really matter. Follo hit a trash beast's face hard with his hammer, sending it towards Zanka with a call of his name, and he was more than happy to slam it into the ground from above, its skull shattering in one hit from the force. Zanka couldnt stop the grin on his face, glad no one could see it through the mask. The thrill of battle hummed in his bones, lighting up his veins. Everyone moving together as one entity, one mind. It was fun, and the feeling of his team fighting beside him, different rythmns all beautifuly in sync, made it even better. 

They'd probably made their way through about half of the beasts, though it was hard to tell with limited visibility, when the ground shook again. 

"Woah seriously, another wave?" 

But the rumbling didnt stop, and in fact only got more intense, to the point where everyone, including the trash beasts, had stopped fighting and were just struggling to not trip over themselves as the ground shook. With a monumental final shudder an explosion of trash from about 200 yards away revealed a truly massive version of the beasts theyve been fighting, towering over everthing in sight and letting out an earsplitting roar.

"Now that," zanka thought, somewhat hysterically "looks like it could belong in no mans land."

"WHAT THE SHIT?? IS THAT LIKE THEIR QUEEN OR SOMETHING?!" screamed Rudo before parrying a trash beast that had decided their timeout was over.
Enjin drove his umbrella through the jaw of the beast wrestling with Rudo and cleared his throat.

"Man. Okay. Listen up everyone! Rudo and Gris, you take everthing to the East! Riyo and Follo, you do the West! Zanka, you can handle the South! And I," he paused for dramatic effect, pulling his umbrella from the now dead trash beast. "will handle big boy up there. Now break!" 

Zanka immediately turned South, a small part of him sad he wouldnt be able to see Enjin's battle with the goliath, but a much bigger part of him absolutely glowing with the fact that he was the only one Enjin had assigned to a quadrant alone. And sure, it was probably just because they didnt have another supporter, but Enjin had trusted his abilities enough to go solo like he did. Man, this really was a good day. 

The beasts were slightly more annoying to kill on his own, especially in such large quantities, but his team had diminished most of their numbers before they had to split up. He ended up getting lost in the familiar rythmn of fighting a predictable enemy, expertly swinging Lovely Assistaff around, and it wasn't too long before he was finishing off the last few he could see. Though tiring, the fight had been somewhat unsatasfying, and he looked around for anything else before turning back to where he came from. He'd ended up pretty far away from the group, though he could still hear the distant sounds of battle in multiple directions. Selfishly, he hoped he was the first to finish. Besides Enjin of course, since he couldnt see the giant beast anymore, meaning Enjin had already made quick work of it. Man, he really was amazing. For a moment, jealousy and pride fought with equal ferocity inside him, followed quickly by guilt at the former. It wasn't Enjin's fault Zanka was still so weak. He just needed to get stronger, keep pushing himself further. He dusted his pants off and started heading back to the group. 

It was just as he was about to crest a peak that he heard something flying through the air, and without any time to react more than turning his head, felt something small and sharp sink into the side of his neck. He brought a hand to it instantly, feeling a dart of some kind, and ripped it out, panic overtaking him. It was a syringe. A now empty syringe. He looked around desperately for where it came from, before he finally saw it. A person, with a blow gun of all things, barely visible behind a hill to his left. He lifted his staff and wave of dizziness hit him all at once. Right, the syringe. Probably a tranqualizer. Shit. He needed to tell his team. He wobbled, it taking everything in him to stay upright, and reached with a hand that didnt feel like his up to his choker, finally managing to turn it on. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, and his warning turned from speech into a half garbled sound of distress before his legs finally gave out on him and he collapsed to the floor. Damnit. No. He was better than this, he could fight this. His choker crackled to life with Riyo's amused voice.

"Rudo, did you trip and accidentlly activate your choker again?" 

"Wha- hey! That wasn't even me, turdface!" 

"uh huh, suuure it wasn't" 

"Okay, okay you two, quit fighting and get back to- uh. fighting" Enjin lightly scolded, voice sounding distant. Everything sounded distant. He heard muffled footsteps coming up behind him, and a large pair of hands flipped him over onto his back. Everything was hazy, his body wouldnt listen to him, even as he strained every muscle. He looked at his attacker, the sun in his eyes making it harder than it needed to be, and though he couldnt make out too many details, he could see enough, and was more surprised by the fact that he didnt recognize them at all. No way he just got taken out by some rando. 

"Oh wow, you're still awake?" a deep voice  rumbled with a hint of some accent Zanka didnt recognize. "You must be prettty resiliant. Or maybe your willpower is just that strong. That's intresting. Thats very intresting. Oh this is gonna be fun!" 

Zanka grit his teeth, and tried to use what little facial control he had to show just how not-fun he found this entire thing so far. The man just laughed, and pulled out some type of baton from behind his back. Holy shit. he was going to die here huh. He was going to get beaten to death by some bozo with a stick in the middle of nowhere and there wasnt anything he could do to stop it. He tried to choke out a question to stall him, but he still couldn't speak. He was- it couldnt end like this. He grit his teeth and with everything left in him, he tried to move the hand still holding Lovely Assistaff, trying to angle it just enough so that he could send her spikes through this guys fucking torso.

Even moving his hand was a monumental effort, and he was slow, and shaky. And before he could do anything more than lift his hand off the ground the man saw him moving and stepped on his wrist, pinning it, and her, in place. The man let out a sigh, and somewhat petulantly said "It would have been better for you if you'd just given in to the tranqualizer. Sorry about this." And with no time to reply, not that he could, the man swung.

The last thing Zanka experienced was the sight of a black baton flying towards his head and the ringing crack of metal hitting bone before everything went dark. 

Chapter Text

Zanka woke up slowly, and with an absolutely splitting headache. He briefly cracked one eye open, and even with his room as dark as it was, his door must have been open, because the flourescent lights in the hallway were killing him. He didnt have them in his room for exactly that reason, prefering the softer, warmer light lamps provided. The cold flourescence, aside from just being ugly, reminded him too much of the academy, of the hellguard.

He tried to open his eyes again and gave up near immediately as pain pounded in his head. He hadn't felt this bad waking up in a long time. Maybe ever. The closest he'd gotten was probably the one time Riyo had managed to convince him to steal a full bottle of gin from Tamsy and get absolutely hammered one night in her room to celebrate his birthday. Honestly, it had been fun, albeit extremely embarassing. They took turns doing shots until most of the bottle was gone, and when the alcohol finally hit mid card game it hit hard. They were both plastered, and her good mood was contagious while intoxicated, and they'd spent the night laughing, doing bad karaoke with arms swung around each others shoulders, and had gotten so loud that someone had banged on the wall and yelled at them to shut up, which only made them laugh harder. It had turned out he was something of an affectionate drunk, and with filter and inhibitions gone he'd told Riyo how much he appreciated her over and over, and how much he wished she was his sister instead, which would have been so much more embarassing if not for the fact that she had cried big drunk tears and hugged him saying she *was* his sister, and had always wanted a brother like him. They'd fallen asleep sprawled across each other on the bed, and that was how Enjin had found them the next morning after they didn't show up for breakfast. The following hours were absolute hell, and had them taking turns in front of the toilet bowl, an exasperated Enjin bringing them water and light food. They'd both had to be on dish duty for a month, and Zanka had sworn off alcohol entitely, while Riyo still drank occasionally, but never to a degree like that again. 

The memory still made him smile, despite the pulsing pain still making itself known in his skull. Christ, he really needed to close that door. He could hear voices to his left, and wasn't keen on someone walking past his room and seeing him laying pathetically on the floor.

...Actually, why was he on the floor? He wracked his brain trying to remember what he'd done last night that could have ended up with him in this position, but all he remembered was going out on a job with Team Akuta that morning. The digging trash beast mobs, the giant mole-gator-thing, splitting up to- Oh no. He opened his eyes for real this time, ignoring the pain, blinking harshly til his eyes finally focused only to be met with a damp, dark, concrete ceiling, connected to the ground in front of him with a series of long iron bars. No. No no nonono.

He shot up into a sitting position and instantly regretted it, cradling his head and feeling feeling sticky, half dried blood at his temple as he tried to focus on his breathing. Right. The baton. Piece of shit tranqualizer. Crazy guy. Shit. His TEAM. What had happened to them after he'd just passed out? He couldn't even warn them properly. Were they here? Damnit. He should've been faster. Smarter. Enjin trusted him to go alone and *this* is what he does? If he'd gone for his choker right away maybe he could've said something actually useful instead of whatever mess had left his mouth instead.

His choker! He reached for it, only to be met with a much larger, different piece of metal encircling his neck. Some sort of collar, so big and cumbersome he's shocked it took him this long to realize it was there. He pulled at it, a sharp pain at the back of his neck instantly making him regret that decision. He needed to get out of here. Now. He stood up on wobbly legs, using the bars in front of him to keep his balance, and accompanying the brutal headache was now nausea, fantastic. He was pissed. He took a breather, forehead pressing up against the cold metal bars, and finally actually processed the voices he'd been tuning out. 

Well, voice, singular. A too familiar, lilting, almost melodic timbre to his left that hadn't stopped or slowed since he first got assaulted with conciousness. 

"-ful getting up so fast tough guy, thats a pretty nasty headwound ya got. Who gave it to you? Ya been fighting other people? You're gonna break my heart Zan-Zan, I thought we had something special." 

Zanka grit his teeth, turning and looking over at who he already knew was there. When they finally locked eyes Jabber looked absolutely giddy. He was in a cell too, next to his, the same metal collar strapped around his neck, trapped just like Zanka was and yet still looking like the cat that got the canary. Zanka could feel all the frustration and loathing he'd been pushing down rise up to the surface all at once and its all-consuming. 

"GREAT! Just great! As if this could get any better!" he bites out, seething. Of course he's stuck here, injured, in a damp, dirty cell, and of course hes stuck here with fucking Jabber of all people. 

Jabber whistles appreciatively. "Man, you're in a mood today. Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?" and cackles at his own joke. Zanka's gonna strangle him. He's gonna rip out those bars with his bare hands and use them to beat Jabber to death.  

...Though actually, ripping the bars out isnt such a bad idea. Based on how damp the ceiling seems, and the muffled echo of Jabbers voice reverberating around them, they're probably underground. Meaning hopefully if the bars were old enough they'll have started to rust at the connection points, and maybe with enough force he could pop them free. He moved along the wall, testing each bar with his hands, pushing and pulling for any sort of give. They don't budge.

"Awww c'mon, dont ignore me." Jabber whines, smile evident in his voice. Zanka very pointedly ignores him.

Maybe he just needs more force. He picks what he thinks is a good spot, and after checking the distance and his stance, he shifts his weight, and sends a powerful roundhouse heel kick into the bars, the sound ringing out loudly, doing nothing to help his headache. Nothing happens. He moves a few steps down and tries again.

"I already tried that, man." Jabber drawls, bored. "They're solid. Though, it is fun to watch you try. Maybe you should use those kicks on me instead~"

Zanka ignores him even more agressively, and methodically keeps trying new areas to kick with his full strength, getting more frustrated as his leg starts to go numb and tingly from all the vibrating force the bars give back, head still pounding.

"Its not gonna woork~" Jabber singsongs, and Zanka cant help himself but mutter a bitter "yeah, for YOU maybe" under his breath before trying another kick, harder still. Jabber just laughs, delighted.

"Man, you really ARE in a mood today, huh! Who knew all it took to get you this pissed off was just a good old fashioned kidnapping! I mean, you really look like you're gonna murder someone. I'm almost jealous!" 

Zanka wants to scream. He wants to rip his hair out. He wants to know if his team is safe. He wants out of this godamn cell, and more than anything else he wants Jabber to SHUT. UP. 

He's got one last hail mary. He backs up, almost to the far end of his cell, and breaks into a sprint. He jumps, both legs in the air, body compressing, as he donkey kicks a single bar with everything he has left in him. The kick connects and he crashes to the floor, air momentarily forced out of his lungs at the impact, and even without looking he can tell it wasn't enough. The bars remain solid.  He squeezes his eyes closed and just takes some breaths, trying to find something, anything, to ground himself with. 

"Yeesh, that was some force! You really should use some more kicks in our fights, I reeeally wanna feel what those legs can do to me!" Jabber breathes, almost dreamily. Freak. 

Zanka gives himself one more second to just lay there, taking a slow breath in and pushing it out through his nose, before he sets his jaw and sits back up. He's done moping. The bars were a bust, but theres gotta be something else. Maybe a lock he can pick, or a guard he could trick or bribe. He doesn't exactly know what he'd bribe them *with* persay, but the thought is something. And evidently, Jabbers been here longer than him, or at least has been awake longer than him, so if he's gonna run his mouth off anyway Zanka might as well use him for information.

 He looks over, Jabber's eyes already on him. Locked in on him, just like they always were. He ignores the spike of something that goes through his core at the intensity Jabber always looks at him with; a look that always leaves him feeling exposed and trapped, like a pinned bug. He sighs, swallowing his pride.

"Fine, I'll bite. Whats the deal with this place, why are we here?" 

"No clue." Jabber responds, shrugging and sticking his tongue out. 

Zanka wonders if he moved fast enough if he'd be able to wrap his hands around Jabbers throat through the bars separating them. Though after a moment clearly reveling in Zankas expression, Jabber continues.

"I've only been here like, uhhhh, a day? Maybe two? They gave me two meals and I've fallen asleep at least once so. yeah." He shrugs again.

Okay, the strangling can wait. For now. And only just barely. Zanka takes a breath. He can work with this.

"Okay. Who's they? How many people? Did they say anything or just give you the food? Did they open the door to give it to you?"

"Hmmm I dunno, those are a lot of questions, what do I get in return?" Jabbers eyes twinkled.

Zanka felt his eye twitch.
"My foot up yer ass." 

"Promise??" 

Ugh. This was impossible. HE was impossible. Zanka threw his hands up, giving up for now and turning around to go lay back down in the corner furthest away from Jabber, who was still laughing. 

Maybe this was all some horrible nightmare and he'd wake up in the back of the cleaners car, music playing softly as the engine hummed and took the tired givers back to HQ. Maybe he'd wake up with Rudo's head on his shoulder, drooling onto his uniform as Riyo tried to angle herself into the middle section enough to take a photo. He doesn't think he'd mind that this time, even though it was gross and embarassing and the kid probably had rabies or something. The idea that he might not ever see them again suddenly occured to him and it felt like the floor had fallen out below him, a cold, seizing terror suddenly gripping his heart. A grief that threatened to swallow him whole. He pushed it back. He wasn't gonna give up that easy. They weren't here, at least as far as he could see, and he had been pretty far away when he got attacked, so there was a chance they hadn't been taken at all. They were probably looking for him right now, all he needed to do was wait it out, or bust out of this place and make it easier for them. He was still alive, and as long as he was alive he wasn't gonna do something as lame as give up. He'd get back to them. No matter what it took. 

He kept thinking of them as he closed his eyes, sleep beginning to take him once more. The teasing, the bickering, stealing food of each others plates, petty arguments, teaming up to mess with one another. The quiet, unspoken love and care. Riyo's laugh,  Rudo's determination, Enjins trust. All his memories playing and overlapping as he slowly drifted back to sleep, body and mind exhausted. He would see them again.  Or die trying.


........


Zanka woke up to the most annoying voice in the world calling his name, and in retaliation immediately rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. The ground was cold and uncomfortable, and little pebbles were digging into his cheeks but he couldnt bring himself to care. Eyes closed, he mentally sighed at the now concrete knowledge that this whole thing had not, in fact, been some sort of stress induced fever dream. Jabber got louder and Zanka stubbornly kept his eyes closed. If being awake meant dealing with Jabber he was going to spend as much of his time here sleeping as possible. Plus, his body felt like he could still probably get at least another hour of rest, something he was desperate to take advantage of. He'd almost drifted off again, when something small and solid had suddenly flown through the air and collided the back of his shoulder, making him sit up and glare at Jabber.

"What is yer- did you just throw your shoe at me?!" 

Jabber just grinned at him, guiltless. "You were ignorin me, what was i supposed to do?" 

"I was sleeping."

"Same difference. How's the head? Looks better"

Infuriatingly, his head did feel a lot better. There was still some pain, especially when his fingers grazed over the wound, but nowhere near as bad as yesterday. Was it yesterday? His thoughts still seemed a little hazy, like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong spot. 

"Shut up. As if you care." he said, with much less bite than he meant to. Jabber didnt respond immediately, looking at Zanka with that same pinning gaze, though this time it had something dark in it just below the surface.

"I wanna know if someone else can beat you as bloody as I can. And if they hit you hard enough to mess your brain up I wanna know so I can take my time ripping them to pieces with mankira." 

The serious tone in Jabbers voice caught Zanka off guard. Was Jabber seriously being...what, protective? In his own, weird, fucked up way? Nah, not protective. Possesive. The hypocrisy of it all made Zankas head swim.

"Right, and I guess it's only okay when you do it" he said sarcastically. Jabber nodded.

"You're mine." –zanka scoffed, but Jabber continued, unphased– "And I'm yours. I want you to get all beat up and bloody by my hand, and I want you to lose yourself doing the same to me, until we both reach our fullest potential on the brink of death. You still have to beat me, I'd be pissed as hell if you let some random incapacitate that brain of yours with a cheap shot." 

Zanka just blinked as he struggled for words. It was way too early for this. He hated how honest Jabber was, how unafraid he was to say stupid, embarassing things like that. And he hated even more how he understood what he meant. Jabber was still looking at him, looking right through him. He needed to say something.

"...Shut up. I don't 'belong' to anyone. Much less yer sorry ass" was what he eventually settled on. It sounded weak even to him. Damn it.

Jabber hummed, a growing smile.
"Not gonna say anythin about me being yours? Careful Zanka, you'll give a guy the wrong idea" he purred, and with Zankas withering glare, he laughed, and the tension was broken again. 

Distant footsteps echoed down the hallway and drew both their attention. Jabber stood up, stretching, as several of his joints popped at a volume that was slightly concerning.

"Oh boy, breakfast!"

Zanka stayed tense, ready for his first real look at his captors. Two people came into view, both men. One slightly taller than the other, both surprisingly well built. That was troubling, not only because it would make escape that much more difficult, but because to get a physique like that on the ground required constant access to good, nutritious food, which was only available to those in powerful organizations or those strong enough to be regularly hired by them. Plus, neither looked like the guy who'd shot the dart at him. So this was definitely bigger than just a couple kidnappers. They both had small remotes on their belts, and pistols on their hips. The sight of the guns made Zanka's stomach churn. Were they hellguard? They didn't walk like military but it ticked all the other boxes. He really hoped they weren't. If they were, did they know who he was? Though if they did, why was Jabber there too? 

"Move back against the wall" the taller of the two commanded, breaking the silence.

He stared down the guard, unmoving. Testing his limits. Every piece of info was valuable. Jabber also didnt move, though he was watching Zanka, excitement growing on his face as he watched the standoff. 

"Both of you, now. Final warning, or face disciplinary action."

When they still didnt move, he nodded to the other guard, and in sync they reached down to the remotes on their belts. Zanka tensed, and with a click his world lit up with pain. The shock lasted maybe 3 seconds, but it was enough to bring him to the floor, gasping, unused to that type of pain. Jabber lay on the floor of his own cell, panting, a dopey smile on his face and one hand on his crotch, and Zanka's face turned red as he suddenly realized why Jabber hadn't moved. God, he really was a freak. 

"Mmmm yeah, hahh, one more, do it again." Jabber begged, finally looking at the two men. Ironically, the guards seemed more disturbed by this than Zanka, professional facades cracking as they looked to each other with poorly concealed confusion and alarm.

Zanka remembered how he'd felt when he was first exposed to Jabbers....tendencies, and despite everything felt a small pang of pity for their captors, who clearly wanted to punish him in some way while having no clue how to do so effectively. In the end, they settled for keeping a gun trained on a grinning Jabber while the other guard unlocked a small section at the bottom of the door, not much bigger than a doggy door, and slid the tray of food in. Zanka had really been hoping the "up against the wall" routine meant they'd need to fully unlock the cell doors to feed them, but no such luck. And the fact that they were being so careful was even worse.

 When they moved over to him he begrudingly shuffled towards the back wall. He had briefly entertained the idea of pretending to enjoy it the way jabber had to make them less inlclined to do it again, but he abandonned the idea almost immediately. Not only did he doubt his ability to act convincingly while being electrocuted, but between being zapped or being shot he'd definitely prefer the former, as much as his muscles ached. Plus, the idea of how absolutely insufferable Jabber would become if he thought Zanka had become a mascochist like him made him shudder. He watched as they opened the door and slid the tray in, the taller guard not taking his hand off the remote the entire time, eyes trained on Zanka. 

With both trays deposited and cells re-locked, the guards left again, and Zanka came forward to check out the food they'd been given. It wasn't much, a bowl filled with some kind of soup and another filled with what he could already tell was overcooked rice. A large plastic cup of water in the corner rounded off the meal. The lack of utensils was annoying, mostly for the rice, but zanka decided to worry about that later, taking a sip of the soup. It wasn't the worst food he'd had, but even calling it good was being generous. Still though, he hadn't eaten in a while, and he supposed beggars couldnt be choosers. He took another sip, and swallowed, trying to convince himself it wasn't that bad. Maybe even enjoyable, for the right pallate. 

"Damn, this soup sucks shit" remarked Jabber suddenly from beside him and Zanka thanked whatever god was listening that he didnt have food in his mouth at the moment as a harsh laugh wrenched its way out of his chest. The absurdity of the whole situation hitting him all at once as another laugh escaped, and another. Now that he'd started, he couldnt seem to stop. He doubled over, feeling absolutely hysterical as the mental image of the guards' panicked reaction to Jabber's electricity-induced hard on sent him into another round of choking laugher. He looked over at Jabber, who had completely frozen, a true, unadulterated look of shock on his features as he just stared at Zanka like he'd never seen him before. Which of course just made it harder to stop. Zanka's stomach hurt from laughing, unused to it, and he wiped tears from his eyes as he tried to calm himself down, taking long wheezing breaths, before he got another look at Jabbers face, still frozen in that stupid shocked expression, and he dissolved into another fit. He collapsed onto his back as he finally started to get his breathing under control, staring at the ceiling. He needed to get it together, he probably looked insane. Maybe he was. Maybe that baton hit to the head actually had knocked something important.

"God. This is so fucking stupid." he choked out in between wheezes. And it was. All of it, from start to finish. 

He rubbed his hands over his face, mulling over just how quickly everything had gone to shit. How was this his life? 

"Hey, give me some of your soup." Jabber said, breaking his train of thought.

Zanka blinked.

"What?? You just said you hated it, and you have yer own bowl anyway, fuck off."

"Nahh, come on, they clearly didnt put in mine whatever they put in yours. What was it? Drug? Poison? Hallicinogen? What does it feel like? Ya gotta tell me! Ya gotta let me try!" Jabbers voice increased in intensity as his questions did, going from subdued to a now obsessive excitement. Of course Jabber thought he'd lost it due to being drugged. He guessed it made sense, since the only time the other had seen him in a similar state – the only time *anyone* had seen him in a state like that – had been in the belly of the trash beast, mindlessly high on Jabbers toxins and barely fighting off death. 

"It ain't drugged." 

"Yeah right, cmonnn Zanky, dont be greedy." He honest-to-god pouted, a kicked puppy expression on his face that would make Zanka want to laugh again if he didnt feel completely and utterly drained.

"Just a bite, come on man. I've been so generous, giving you so many delicous poisons and you cant even share a single bite of yours with your good friend Jabber?" 
Passively, Zanka thought it was almost impressive how many untrue statements Jabber could cram into a single sentence. 

Jabber continued to beg, and much as he reveled in having the upper hand for once, he got the sense that Jabber really wouldn't let up, even if ignored. 

"Fine. Gimme some of yer rice." 

The bowls were too large to fit between the gaps in the bars while still being horizontal, but the gaps were wide enough for Jabbers hands to slide through easily, handing over what looked like half of his remaining rice, not that there was much left. The guy must eat like a maniac.

"Okay, now keep your bowl by the bars. If this drips on the floor I'm not givin ya any more."

Jabber nodded eagerly. Zanka took the rice and dunked it in his soup, keeping his fingers cupped and moving it quickly and carefully over the few inches to the bars, trying to drop it in Jabbers bowl. 

Instead, he was suddenly met with Jabbers mouth wrapping around his fingers instead. He yanked back his hand on instinct more than anything, and the wet pop his hand had made sliding from Jabbers tightly sealed lips was obscene. Jabber, still making eye contact, swallowed and licked his lips, lazy smile growing, and he looked real proud of himself. Zanka was gonna have an aneurysm. He could tell his face was bright red and *burning*, and it was like his brain had short-circuted. Anger, surprise, disgust, and a burning heat in his stomach as he remembered the split-second feel of Jabbers tongue pressing on his fingers all fought for his attention at once. He felt violated, and angry, and he wanted to get him back, and then another flush overtook him as he realized his first instinct was wanting to shove his fingers back in Jabbers mouth, further, more agressively, making him take it as retribution.

Maybe that soup was laced with something. Maybe there was something in the air. There had to be something. He hadnt even been here for more than a day and he already felt like he was going insane, though maybe that was just Jabber's effect on him. He always seemed to be able to tear down Zankas perfectly constructed persona with ease, knowing exactly what buttons to push, pulling the parts of himself he hated up to the surface from where they were buried until they consumed him, until he was left exposed. Raw. He despised it. Despised Jabber. 

Jabber, who was still looking at him, infuriating smile still on his face, until he seemed to realize something, and suddenly frowned.

"Man, that was just regular soup."

Zanka moved before he could think, his fist speeding past the bars and slamming into Jabbers nose as he felt a wet crunch of cartilidge beneath his knuckles. 

Jabber fell back, hands cupped over the bloody mess on his face, as a crazed laugh escaped him. He laid there, staring at the ceiling, giggling and struggling for breath, and Zanka hated how it mirrored the positions they'd both been in just a few minutes prior. 

After a minute or so, Jabber slowly sat back up, and Zanka felt a dark satasfaction at just how much blood covered the lower half of Jabbers face, nose crooked and clearly broken. 

"Ooh man. Ooh MAN that was good. You really got me!"

He kept pressing his fingers to the stream of blood and pulling away to look down at it, like he couldnt process what he was seeing. Or like he just wanted to see it over and over. Probably the latter.

"Zanka," he breathed his name like a prayer, "you make me bleed so good. So perfect." There was a desperate heat in his eyes, and unsurprisingly, a tent in his pants. He shuffled over the bars, pressing himself up against them. 

"Do it again, you know you wanna. Let me see that brutality I know you have in you." 
Zanka just glared at him, fists still clenched, knuckles slightly stinging.

"Yes, yes, keep looking at me like that. Like I'm a bug you wanna crush under your boot" Jabber moaned.

This was all too much. way too much. There were no good answers, no solutions, and the anger that came with that knowledge made him wanna hit Jabber again, which only made him angrier since he couldnt even do that without playing right into his hands and giving him exactly what he wanted. Zanka could feel his teeth grinding against each other from how tight he was clenching his jaw. Instead, he picked up his tray, and turned around. He walked to the far end of the cell, and sat facing the wall. He felt a bit stupid doing so, but anything was better than having to look at Jabber right now, especially because he could still hear him panting and groaning behind him, calling Zankas name with that stupid breathiness that made his stomach flip. 

It wasn't long before – mercy of all mercies – footsteps sounded out again from the far end of the hall, and craning his head to look, Zanka had never been so grateful to see two people he hated. When they reached Jabbers cell, they paused briefly as they took in the situation, before seemingly deciding to just take it in stride, likely deciding it was none of their buisiness. Lucky them. 

"Jabber Wonger. Up against the wall"

"One minute man, I'm so close"  he said dreamily, and the shorter guard put a warning hand on his remote. Apparently they hadn't learned from last time, because all this did was make Jabber more excited. 

"Ohh yeah, I think a good shock would get me there, cmon, do it." He begged. 

Either the guard had been bluffing, or he'd just remembered what Jabber was like, because he took his hand off the remote. 
"Move against the back wall now, final warning." 

Jabber just waited, visibly excited. The guard, in response, simply hit a different button on his remote, then put a hand to his choker. 

"Cease all meals and water to subject G012-a for 24 hours, effective immediately."
Ah, so that was their new method of dealing with him. It *had* been a bluff earlier.

A short, affirmative noise crackled out of the choker and the guard stepped back, watching. At first, it didn't seem like anything else had happened, save for Jabbers fervent excitement slowly dimming at the loss of a painful opportunity. Though, after a few seconds, it became clear it wasnt just dissapointment slowing Jabbers movements, as his eyes began to droop and he ungracefully collapsed onto his back once more. So thats what the second button was, some sort of tranqualizer. Probably even the same one Zanka himself had fallen victim to when he was first taken. It must have been pretty potent to be able to do this much to Jabber, of all people. Or maybe they'd just given him a massively increased dose, knowing of his proclivities. Probably that, they had known his name after all. 

Again, one of the guards kept a gun trained on Jabber while the other unlocked the cell door. Only they didnt open the small door this time to get the food tray back like he'd been expecting, and instead fully opened the cage and stepped inside. The muscular guard quickly manhandled Jabber onto his front, arms behind him as he tightly secured a pair of metal cuffs on them. Jabber wriggled around, still grinning, if subdued. He hoisted Jabber up to his feet by his joined hands harshly, in a way that made Zankas shoulderblades ache in sympathy. And then he pulled Jabber out of the cell and dragged him out and down the hallway with the other guard, leaving Zanka alone once more in the deafening quiet of his cage.

Chapter Text

Zanka waited for something, anything, to happen. Going to the front bars, he strained to try and hear or see anything that would give him a clue as to what they were doing with Jabber. After a few minutes, it became clear they weren't coming back right away to grab him too, and that wasn't as big of a relief as he'd hoped. There was a non-zero chance they'd just taken Jabber off to execute him. And there was a non-zero chance he was next. Great. He stepped back from the bars, going back to the wall where his tray of half eaten food –his last meal, maybe– resided, and leaned his back against the cool concrete, before sliding down into a sitting position on the floor. Hating, not for the first time, just how powerless he felt. 

"Cease all meals and water to subject G012-a for 24 hours, effective immediately."

...No, they hadn't killed Jabber. Probably. It wouldn't make sense. But the question remained of what they were doing to him. And what they were gonna do to Zanka.

It had been maybe an hour or two – with no clocks or sunlight all he could do was guess – before he finally heard something other than the tapping of his own foot on the ground and the occasional drip. Scrambling up, he tried to look down the hall. If nothing else, he refused to let them catch him off guard. Slowly, the two guards from before came into view, dragging an unconcious Jabber by the arms. As they got closer, Zanka looked at Jabber, who weirdly enough, didnt seem to have any (new) visible wounds on him, though it was a bit hard to tell since the now mostly dried blood from his broken nose still covered the majority of his lower face. They opened the cell up and tossed Jabber in, his unconscious body landing like a ragdoll. There was something disturbing about seeing him like that, half-expecting at any moment for him to pop back up and say something stupid. But his body just laid there, limp. If not for the slow rise and fall of his chest Zanka could've mistaken him for dead. 

"Face the back wall, hands against your head. Now."

Zanka ripped his eyes away from Jabber's still form and back at the guards.

"What'd you do?" 

He didn't get a chance to do anything else before electricity coursed through him, sending him spasming on the ground. Apparently the guards were done with warnings. The door opened and one of the guards –the shorter one maybe? Not that it mattered– did the same action of shoving his arms behind his back and cuffing them together. Zanka, at least, was able to get his feet under him as the guard yanked him up, though he was still breathing heavily and in no shape to fight back. Not yet at least. The door opened again as they walked him out of the cell. Great. His turn.

He took the chance to look around, trying to get any new information about where they were or how to get out, but the hallway was the same all the way down, and both directions ended in nondescript T-intersections. They marched down towards the far end, passing rows of empty, identical cells. There were maybe a dozen in total. Including the two that housed him and Jabber. They turned right at the end of the hall, before coming up on a security door. The shorter guard pulled a keycard on a lanyard from their pocket and scanned it. Zanka filed away that knowledge for later. The door whooshed open and revealed a much cleaner hallway, with linoleum floors and a general smell of antiseptic. They expertly navigated their way past doors with labels he didnt have time to read, too busy trying to engrave the series of turns they were taking into his mind. Left, right, straight, left, second door. The door they ended at also unlocked by keycard, though it wasn't quite as fancy as the previous one. The guard turned the handle and pushed the door open, and he was dragged inside. The chemical smell was even stronger in here, and the room looked like a doctors office. Well, if a doctors office and a torture chamber had a baby. It had the usual shelves and cabinets, along with a pristine countertop and metal sink. But where a patient bed would normally sit there was a large, half reclined chair made of metal and covered in a thick, padded material, with large metal cuffs welded where a persons wrists and ankles would go, as well as a large one by the head. His thoughts ranged from "how cliché" to "absolutely NOT" as he dug his heels into the ground when they started pulling him over to it. He knew, realistically, that struggling would get him nowhere. They outnumbered him, they overpowered him, he was still recovering from a probably-concussion, and on top of all that he was still fucking handcuffed. But his brain just wouldn't allow him to passively let himself get strapped into the torture-chair. Not that it mattered because they were quickly able to wrestle him into the chair anyway, one of the guards holding him down while the other secured the metal restraints on his legs. They uncuffed him then, with a key also on the lanyard –*noted*– before each grabbing a wrist and locking those in as well. With arms and legs secured, they moved to the one across his forehead, securing it in place with a final, damning click.  He struggled for just a moment, testing the restaints, but they were solid, and tight, and the metal bit into his joints uncomfortably. The guards nodded and then left the room, scanning the same card to get out. Locked from both sides, then. He sat there, trapped and stuck facing the door, waiting for whoever or whatever was going to come in and make his life hell that day.

He tried looking around more, thinking maybe he could find something to free himself with, or take back into his cell to pick the lock, but there was nothing. Not that he could reach it if there was. Presumably the only things not neatly tucked away in cabinets or drawers were several thick colored binders on one of the shelves, along with a box of what looked like files. After a few minutes, he heard the mechanical click of the door unlocking, and it opened to reveal an older man in a white lab coat, followed by the asshole who had hit Zanka with the blow dart, also in a coat. They had a small symbol on the breast pocket that he didn't recognize. The old man gave him a friendly smile as he set his notebooks and pen down on the counter.

"Hello there! Zanka, correct?" 

Zanka just continued to glare, mostly at blow dart guy, trying to convey with just his eyes how much he wanted to break out of his restraints and beat him senseless. Said guy didn't look his way at all, too busy opening drawers and cabinets as he hummed a tune, pulling things out and lining up vials on a tray as he sorted through files.

"Ah, yes – my assistant told me you'd resisted his darts, that's no easy feat! You should be proud! Subject G012-a, that is- your current neighbor and acquaintance mister Wonger, also showed a resistance, though we expected that, given the nature of his vital instrument."
Him calling Jabber an "acquaintance" of his with a straight face would've made him laugh in any other situation, but there was nothing funny about it right now. The man flipped one of his notebooks open and clicked his pen.

"Tell me, have you always had an increased immunity to toxins? I understand you belong to the Nijiku family, was that part of their training? Or is it simply biological?" 
Zanka suppressed a flinch at the mention of his family, though by the way the old man's head tilted just slightly, he didn't do a good enough job of concealing his reaction entirely. 

"Or maybe another reason? According to my staff you likely have some sort of prior antagonistic relationship with G012-a. Repeated exposure to his vital instrument would eventually cause an increased resistance to most toxins, it's just, well. That would be a bit boring, wouldn't it?" He chuckled, like they were having afternoon tea. Boring. The word got under his skin and his glare only deepened. Despite this, the mans pleasant smile and open body language never faltered.

"Ah, where are my manners, I'm sure you have questions as well, right? Maybe we can do a little trading of information."

Part of Zanka wanted to continue the silent treatment more than anything, but he was at a distinct disadvantage in the conversation regardless, and the only thing staying quiet would help was his pride. 

"Fine. But I'm not telling ya shit about the cleaners, so dont even ask."

The man waved him off, smile still on his face. "Completely fine, I have no interest in that."

Hm.

"What do you want then? And who are you with? Hellguard? Someone else? You took a raider and a cleaner, you trying to start some kind of war?"

"Oh heavens no, nothing that juvenile." He laughed. "No, I promise my pursuits are much more noble. And I'm definitely not with the Hellguard, our goals are...somewhat antithetical to theirs."

He was really getting tired of this crazy old man. 

"What goals." 

"Sorry, I believe its my turn. My earlier question still stands, what causes your increased toxin resistance?" 

He thought about lying, but if the man thought he had some sort of inherent biological immunity to poison he might give him more than he could handle.

"Lots of practice." 

He could tell the man was slightly dissapointed, but he rebounded quickly.

"What kind of practice? Is it self-inflicted or during combat scenarios? Have you noticed the amount of adrenaline in your system affecting how much you're able to resist?" 

He really was asking the wrong guy about this, Jabber would probably love to talk his ear off about this topic. Those two would probably get on like a house on fire.

"Combat. And no, I haven't noticed. Now, what. goals. are you talking about?" 

"The pursuit of knowledge, of course! Knowledge that will help us create more vital instruments, and more Givers! We still understand so little about the nature of Givers, and of vital instruments, despite them having been around for ages! What makes someone capable of drawing out the soul of an object, how exactly they're different to a person who can't. Why their instrument can change as it's user does. It's necessary knowledge we don't have. We used to research Anima, trash beasts are much easier to get ahold of than givers, afterall. But you can't ask a trash beast what the energy coursing inside them feels like. You can't monitor its vitals, or measure its response to stimuli in anything more quantitative than decibels. So we had to switch gears. It's terrible, I know, and I really do feel awful, but its for the good of humanity as a whole, I promise. Your sacrifice will speed up decades of research."

"Oh great, so yer insane." 

"All breakthrough discoveries about humans come at the cost of humans. It's our curse. History won't remember us fondly, and I won't expect them to. But the information we gain by scientific exploration not held back by ethics and red tape will change the world. It brings me no joy to hurt you, it really doesn't. And I understand that you'll hate me no matter what I say, but I hope it brings you some comfort that we're both sacrificing something for the greater good."

The audacity made Zanka's blood boil.

"Don't make me laugh, yer not sacrificing anything, you're not the one strapped to this stupid chair with a godamn collar around your neck, so until you are, I don't wanna hear it. You can bitch and moan all you want but you're not giving up anything other than yer reputation, which I doubt was even that good to begin with." 

And, because apparently he'd decided to really commit to digging his own grave, lashed out the only way he could. As effectively as he could while restrained, he spat at the old man, trying to land it on his notebook. Or his face. He was about a couple feet short, it landing on the edge of the counter, and as he did, blow gun guy –who had finished setting up and has just been listening to their conversation– stiffened angrily, and made a move to walk over, probably to clobber Zanka, before being stopped by the old man raising a single hand. The man sighed, readjusting his glasses and looked at him once more.

"I'm sorry you can't understand. And I forgive you. I hope, if theres anything beyond this life, that you can eventually forgive me."

"Would you just shut up! I'm sick of yer monologing."

"Okay," He said evenly, switching to a different notebook. "Let's begin then. Today will be something of a calibration. Ivan, hook him up."

Blow dart guy came forward then, attaching a thin plastic tube with some sort of adaptor on both ends to an area of his collar he couldn't see. He stood behind him, which was smart on his part because if he'd been anywhere in front of Zanka he definitely would've tried to hack another loogie at him, consequences be damned. He missed the first part of the old mans sentence while he was fantasizing about it, tuning back in to him talking to his assistant.

"-zine. lets start with 50 mg and increase by 10 at intervals of 90 seconds until blood pressure reaches 160/100."

He could hear a vial being grabbed, and within a minute, he heard a stopwatch turn on as seconds later a burning pain started at the back of his neck, quickly traveling throughout his entire body, setting his nerves on fire. He didn't recognize it specifically as one Jabber had used before, though the general feeling itself was familiar. He focused on breathing, and tried mentally to separate the pain from himself. If anything, it was easier than fighting Jabber, because here all he had to do was endure it. He didn't have to move around and fight, too. Or deal with Jabbers infuriating personality, which was also a plus. He did wish it would stop getting worse though. Every time he just started to get used to the pain level it would increase into something new and uniquely awful. It just kept building, continually rising to a level where he found himself clenching his jaw to keep from screaming. Each breath he dragged through his nose was a conscious act. He wasn't sure how long it had been, the pain making time slow down and speed up all at once, but he was starting to reach his limit. His vision was going slightly black around the edges, and he knew from experience it would tunnel in further and further until he lost vision entirely and eventually passed out. He could hear the two scientists talking in the back of his mind, muffled sounds that made no sense to him. And as blackness slowly blotted out the last pinholes of his vision, he hoped the pain didn't follow him into unconsciousness, and finally slipped away.

A now-familiar shock jolted him into awakeness, vision blurry and body heaving. He was still in the chair, still strapped in.
"Ah good, you're back with us. We're flushing that out of your system right now. You did very well!"
What? He could feel his hands shaking, his whole body felt like it had been taken off and put back on inside-out. He must have been making a confused face because the old man elaborated. 
"That was just the first test, we've got a few others we need to run to establish a good baseline for what you can handle to be our control before we start intruducing other variables." 
The words didn't register further than realizing he was gonna have to go through that again, that even unconsciousness hadn't saved him. His mouth was dry and his throat burned, trying to swallow on nothing.

"Ah, would you like some water? We need a minute to let your body reset from the last toxin anyway. I'll get you some."

Zanka just watched as he opened a cabinet and got a small paper cup, walking over to the sink and filling it up. He crossed over to Zanka's prone form and tilted it to his lips. It was humiliating, having someone else help him drink, but the cool water was heaven, and he couldn't help but gulp it down. 

The strange accent of the other guy, whatever his name had been, sounded out from behind him. "Vitals normal, toxin 1 fully flushed. Ready for trial 2." 

"No." He croaked, and was promptly ignored.

"Perfect, I think we can start at a slightly higher dose, resistence seems to span multiple types of toxins."

This was hell. He wanted Lovely Assistaff back, and he hated thinking about what these freaks were probably doing to her. He wanted to go home, wanted to be in his own bed. He wondered what his team was doing right now, and allowed himself to take some comfort in the fact that whatever they were doing, at least they weren't here. Yeah, if anyone was gonna be stuck here, probably best it was him. That was his last thought before another, different, freezing pain got pumped into his system, and everything started all over again.

...

He woke up feeling like death warmed over, an experience he was getting way too familiar with for his liking. He'd passed out after the final test, like he had with all the others, and instead of shocking him awake again he was guessing they took advantage of his limp state and brought him back to the cell. He rubbed his eyes, just laying there staring at the ceiling. He seemed to be doing a lot of that these days. He wondered what time it was.

"Oh hey, you're up!" Chirped Jabber from his cell, sounding way too energetic. 
"That was crazy huh? What'd they do for you? They kept makin me pass out and wake back up, it was a rush. Got a little boring after the first couple times, though, not gonna lie."

A little boring. God, this was all so unfair. Another one of the universe's cruel jokes on him, to be trapped and tortured with someone who couldnt even share his misery at the situation. Who was bored by it, of all things.

"Yoohoo, ground to Zanka? Don't tell me you're ignorin me man, I thought we got over that. I still got another shoe y'know."

"..Don't you dare."

"There he is!" He could hear the smile in his voice. "So? What'd they do?" 

He sat up, rolling his shoulders. Fuck it. He supposed they were technically temporary allies by default while trapped here, though he didn't hold his breath that that would extend anywhere past the exchanging of information. 
"Same as you, I think. Old dude wouldn't stop talking about his 'research'," Zanka said with heavy finger quotes. "saying how he was a 'necessary evil' and a bunch of other nonsense before dosing me up with poison. Prick. I bet you two got along just fine." 

Jabber laughed at Zanka's obvious bitterness. 

"Nah, that guy was so boring. Going on and on about 'the good of humanity' as if I give a shit about that. He wasn't even strong either, probably wouldn't last a half second against Mankira's claws. I'd fight the woman before I fought him, he's not even worth the time it'd take to skewer him."

"The woman? What woman?"

Now it was Jabbers turn to look mildly confused.
"Uhhh, y'know, the-" he mimed something vaguely around his head and Zanka stared at him blankly, having absolutely no idea what he was trying to convey. "with the hair, big muscles, y'know!" 

"I really don't. There was no woman with him when I went, just the asshole that hit me with the blow gun." 

"Pffft. You got hit with a blow gun? Dude." 

He felt his face redden. "Oh shut up, I'd just gotten done fighting a big horde of trash beasts and we were in the middle of nowhere, I wasn't expectin it. He caught me off guard, that's all." He paused. "How'd you get taken, anyway?" 

"Bob girl sold me a crazy new paralytic for Mankira and I had to try it out, guess she followed me back to my place cause she came in just as it was starting to get good, put me in a chloroform sack from behind and everything, I could barely move. It was awesome. And then I woke up here." 

"Thats....yeah, that checks out. Only you, Jabber."

"Awwwe, Zan-zan."

"Wasn't a compliment." 

With a final snicker from Jabber, they settled into a surprisingly comfortable silence. 

Of course it couldn't last for long, maybe a minute at most, before Jabber, who had been tapping his bare foot against the ground with increasing speed, had to ruin it. He groaned dramatically, flopping onto the ground.

"This is so boriiiing. We gotta do something."

Zanka rolled his eyes. "What, like eye spy?" He mocked.

"I dunno, something. You wanna take turns punching each other til one of us passes out?"

"Fuck no." 

"Ughhhh!" Jabber whined. "C'mon man, I haven't had a decent fight since our last run in, I'm dyin here." 

He hated how the sound of Jabber begging made something in his stomach flip. He chose to ignore it. He was getting pretty good at that.

"What, being tortured not exciting enough fer you? Isn't this like your dream or something?" 

"That's different. Well- I mean yeah, but it's no fun when the person doing it ain't interesting at all. And besides, all they're doin is giving me poisons. Which don't get me wrong, they're great! But I can do that at home." 

"How truly terrible for you." He deadpanned.

"I know, right?"  Ugh. "So what do you wanna do?" 

"I'd like to sit in silence."

"Thats so boring thoughh, and you're not boring, are you Zanka?" 

An obvious press at his buttons, but for once he didn't rise to it, already too worn out from everything that had happened earlier, and everything that had been happening in the last 48 hours. He stayed quiet, trying to remember the other doors he'd passed on his way to the lab. Maybe there was something in one of them he could use, if he managed to break free. Or maybe one of them led to an exit. He'd have to try and take a closer look the next time they took him down, though he dreaded the idea of being locked in that chair again.

"I spy...something that starts with a B." 

"Are you serious right now? I was joking."

Jabber just grinned at him in response. Stupid. Zanka heaved out a sigh.

"Fine. Bars."

"Nope!"

Genuinely surprising. He took a second to actually look around, and then across at the cells opposite them. 

"Blackness."

"Wrong again, you kinda suck at this man."

He glared at Jabber, and upon actually making eye contact and looking at his face, he suddenly had his answer. 

"...Blood."

"Ding ding ding! We have a winner! Okay, your turn." 

Well, it wasn't like not doing it would make the time go by any faster. He sighed.

"I spy something that starts with P."

...

They went back and forth for a couple rounds before quickly running out of material, since the sparse cells didn't offer much in the way of objects. (After an "F" hint from Jabber, when floor had already been guessed, Zanka refused to keep going, not giving Jabber the satasfaction, though the man in question almost pissed himself laughing anyway.) They transitioned to 20 questions, and Zanka had just gotten Jabbers item, a grenade, on the 13th question when the familiar sound of footsteps came from his right. 

A distant anxiety pulsed through him. It was way too soon for them to bring him back, right? There was no way. He went tense as the two guards came into view, holding a tray of food. Ah. He forgot about the fact that they still needed to eat. He eyed the single tray curiously. Oh right, Jabber had lost his food privilages earlier. When had that been? This morning? Or was it morning now? It was impossible to tell. 

"Against the wall."

Zanka moved without a fight. Better to keep a low profile for now and let them think they'd started beating him down while he planned his escape. 

The small door opened, food sliding in, before locking once more. The guards went back to the right and exited around the corner, making it their fastest visit yet. 

Zanka looked at his options. A large breadroll, and what looked like cooked but unseasoned cubes of tofu in a bowl, as well as the same large cup of water. He drank some of that first, realizing just how dehydrated he'd been, despite the small drinks he'd gotten in between tests in the lab. Honestly, if he was still thirsty, Jabber must have been parched. He looked over to see Jabber crouching next to the bars, just looking at him. 

He was surprised and slightly unnerved by the fact that Jabber hadn't asked for any of his food yet, despite looking at it in a way that clearly showed his hunger. 

"What, not gonna ask for some?" Zanka questioned, against his better judgement.

Jabbers eyes seemed to glow in the light. "Do you want me to ask for some?" 

Before Zanka could answer, Jabber grinned as he moved onto his knees, lacing his fingers in front of his chest and looking up at Zanka through his eyelashes. 
"Please, Zan-kah?" he asked sweetly, tilting his head.

Fuck.

He immediately snapped his gaze back to the food. What the hell. "Get up, idiot. Don't make me punch you again." 

Jabber's eyes crinkled with pure joy, and he was sure if he had a tail it would be wagging.

He ripped off a small quarter of the partly stale breadroll with more force than necessary. He may have been nice enough to share, but no way was he giving him half. Especially after that. He opened it up and put a handful of pieces of the tofu on it, like the worlds strangest open faced sandwich.

"Okay. I swear to god, If you try some weird shit when I give this to you again yer not getting anything else from me ever." He warned sternly.

"Sure, deal." Jabber replied easily, and stuck his hands through the bars over to Zanka's side as a show of good faith. After a moment of staring at him suspiciously, he placed the food into Jabbers waiting hands, and when they pulled back Zanka could've sworn Jabber's fingers had glided against his own just a little bit longer than was necessary. But it could have just been his imagination, or his hypersensitivity to the feeling of Jabbers skin on his, and he wasn't about to embarass himself by bringing it up if it was nothing, so he pretended he hadn't noticed.

Jabber happily bit into his Zanka's meal, and hummed as he chewed.

"Honestly," He said, food still in his mouth, "not as bad as last time."

Zanka hadn't tried a bite yet, but weirdly found himself agreeing anyway as he watched him.

No, somehow it really wasn't.

Chapter Text

The first thing Zanka noticed upon waking up was that the pain in his head was near completely gone, and his thoughts were much easier to hold on to. The second thing he noticed was a finger on his face, finishing what seemed to be a slow circle around his eye before tracing a small line over the bridge of his nose. When the finger moved down to draw a line on the area above his lip, he struck, shooting forward and giving it a harsh bite as he opened his eyes. He faintly tasted blood.

Jabber yelped in surprise, pulling his hand back purely on instinct for just a moment, before laughing and keeping them on Zanka's side, elbows threaded through the bars. 

"Heyy, mornin Zanka, took you long enough to wake up! Would've thought you'd be an 'up with the sun' kinda guy, it normal for you to sleep in this much?" 

Zanka must have fallen asleep way too close to the dividing line between their cells, a mistake he wouldn't make again. All things considered though, Jabber probably could've done worse than just touching his face, even if it was fucking creepy. He raised a hand to the area of his eye where he'd felt Jabbers fingers and was surprised to find it slightly tacky. He moved across to the other eye, and when felt another circle he immediately realized what had happened. He felt a vein bulge in this forehead.

"Oh for- what are ya, twelve?!" 

The sight of Zanka, with drawn on glasses and half a moustache sending him a death glare was apparently too much for Jabber, sending him into absolute hysterics as he doubled over, tears in his eyes as he laughed. 

Zanka wet a corner of his sleeve and started wiping away the drawing, unsurprised when it turned the fabric slightly red. Jabber was just getting done with his laughing fit, wiping a final tear from his eye, and Zanka noticed an area near his left wrist where the skin had been bit into enough to draw blood. Must be where Jabber had gotten his fingerpainting supplies. 

"Hoo, okay. Man!" Jabber breathed, composing himself. "You shoulda seen your face. It's too bad you're undoing all my hard work so fast, the glasses kinda suited you. Don't ever grow a moustache though." He snickered.

"I think I'd hate to see either on you." Zanka bit back.

"Aww, you saying you like the way I look right now better?"

"I'm sayin ya don't need to make youself look any worse, you're good on that front. trust me." Zanka parried sardonically, and it made Jabber laugh again. 

Slowly, it was getting easier to talk to him. In a way it felt a lot like their battles, Jabber starting with an inherent upper hand that Zanka had to adapt to quickly, learning his traps and strategies. How to avoid them, and how to hit back. Almost like a dance. 

...

After a while, the guards came from the right side again, once more carrying a single tray of food. It was good to know that Jabbers 24 hours weren't up, since it meant they were getting at least 2 meals per day, probably at regular or mostly-regular intervals. The usual routine followed, zanka moved to the wall, the tray got placed, the door got relocked. 

It seemed todays meal was back to two bowls, one of which contained various steamed vegetables while the other held some sort of porridge. Still no utensils. He dipped a finger in the porridge and tried it. Not only was it aggressively room temperature, but it was entirely bland and flavorless. yum. Switching to the vegetables, he picked up a piece of what was probably zucchini. It was also completely unseasoned, but better than the porridge by default since at least it had *some* flavor. 

He wondered how he was gonna share the porridge with Jabber and the memory of how he'd behaved with the soup came to mind and immediately killed any desire to pursue that further. 

He gave him a few vegetables and let him finish off the water after Zanka drank what he needed. 

Then, Zanka sat waiting for the guards. They'd come in around this time yesterday to take Jabber, and it stood to reason they'd do the same today. But for as long as he waited, nothing happened. Maybe they were giving them a rest day after running all their "calibrations". It seemed too good to be true, and even if it was, it definitely didn't move them from the very top of Zanka's shitlist, a place normally reserved for Jabber, and occasionally Rudo. (A certain scene of being chased through an alley with a plunger came to mind.) 

He looked over at Jabber, who was laying on his back with his legs up on the bars that separated them, humming a tune Zanka didn't recognize as he cracked his knuckles. And his wrists. And his neck. Each pop louder than the last. Zanka just watched. 

For as much as he hated him, Jabber wasn't actually unattractive, and if he'd been anyone else there was a chance Zanka actually would have found him good looking. As it was though, his insane personality and sadomasochist tendencies cancelled that out pretty well. Still, in moments when he actually managed to shut up and didn't look like he actively wanted to eat Zanka alive, he could appreciate the sharpness of his jawline, the curve of his throat and adams apple, his long locs, his deft and skilled fingers, his absurdly long eyelashes and dark, almost red, eyes. The way-

"You gonna tell me what you're thinkin so hard about about, or just keep staring? I'll get self conscious."

He'd never been so glad to have Jabber interrupt his train of thought. That was getting dangerous. 

"Just thinkin about how bad I'm gonna pummel you the next time we fight." 

Jabber lit up at that, tilting his head to look over at him from his place on the floor. "Zanka my dear friend, why wait? We don't have to let some bars stop us."

Yeah he'd definitely made a mistake saying that. "Not gonna happen. We got enough to deal with as is." 

"I think you just love getting me all riled up for nothing." Whined Jabber. "You're a real sadist, y'know that?" 

Zanka just rolled his eyes. "Oh please. As if ya wouldn't absolutely love it if I was."

"Trust me, I do. I'm just curious how long you're gonna keep denying your true nature. Pretending we're not perfect for each other." 

Not this again. 

"I think all the poison's gotten to yer brain, you're delusional." 

"Eh, pot in kettle." He said, waving a hand in the air. "Or whatever the saying is." 

"Not even close."

...

His suspicion about them not being taken into the lab today had somehow been correct, a fact that was later confirmed when the guards came around the corner with dinner. And with two trays again, good. 

They'd spent the day playing would you rather (with some truly heinous questions from Jabber), and then tic tac toe with pebbles and a grid they scratched into the floor between their cells. Jabber had made a comment about how hopefully the next two inmates could appreciate it, and it had made Zanka snort despite himself. The time had passed surprisingly fast, or maybe the feeding schedule just wasn't as regular as he'd hoped. 

Jabber almost looked like he wanted to try his luck again when the guards told him to move, and Zanka shot him a look that he hoped registered as "If you do that shit again you're on your own this time", and clearly something translated across because he rolled his eyes and moved to the back wall as he huffed, complaining the whole time. 

They left around the right corner again and Zanka listened as they did, trying to see if he could get an idea about the composition of the hallway by sound alone. He strained to hear fading footsteps and a push door opening, sound muffled completely once it closed. It wasn't much, but it meant they probably didn't have the same level of security on the close end of the corridor as they did on the far one. Meaning it probably wasn't also a lab. Not to mention every time they brought food they came from the right side, so that was probably where the kitchens were. If he could get out somehow and get over to the kitchen area, maybe he could get something to defend himself with. 

There were still a couple glaring issues though, namely his collar and the fact that he had no idea how to actually get out, or even where to go after he secured a weapon. He never saw the guards just pass by when they weren't delivering something or taking one of them, but sometimes they'd come from the right side and sometimes from the left, so there must be another hallway connecting the two. The place was a maze and he needed more info. Or he needed to be really lucky, but so far it seemed lady luck wasn't his biggest fan so he'd prefer not to stake his life on her favor. He was always better at relying on himself anyway.

...

Their break didn't extend further than the one day, something Zanka hadn't allowed himself to hope for but was dissapointing nontheless.

They walked off with a sedated Jabber and Zanka started picking at his nailbeds while he counted the minutes until it was his turn.

When they came back with Jabbers body he already knew what to expect, and let himself be handcuffed and walked out of the cell without issue. It seemed as long as he complied, they didn't use the electricity or tranqualizer, though they didn't want to take that risk for Jabber. While a part of him was a bit bitter that they considered Jabber a bigger threat, he'd be lying if he said he didnt also get it. 

Once behind the keycard door and in the hallways of the lab he looked around at the doors for anything useful. They were labeled in a way that meant nothing to him, acronyms and numbers he was sure he could figure out if he just had more time, but he didn't. 

To his surprise, they didn't take him to the same room. Instead, they took a right instead of the last left and went to the door at the end of the hall. 

Upon the door opening, he noticed it was similar to the first room, except bigger, and with the notable addition of a large floor-to-ceiling wall made of a thick acylic dividing the room neatly into the more traditional lab area and the smaller torture room. Cute. 

The chair was the same, though pointed at the left wall instead of the lab this time, and behind it was a tall machine with lots of wires and tubes that seemed to connect through a hole in the acrylic wall over to the lab area.

They took him into the contained area and he still struggled a bit when they brought him to the chair, mostly for the sake of his own pride. As he tried to wriggle out of their grip part of him wondered why they didn't just electrocute him, and then he suddenly remembered that humans were very conductive. His lightbulb moment made him pause long enough for them to secure him in, but he didn't mind with the info he'd just gotten. They couldn't zap him while he was touching someone else. Meaning he could maybe get a hostage without even having a weapon.

He expected the guards to leave, but instead they just set up against the back wall of the lab area and said something into their chokers. He didn't hear anything. Seemed like the room was soundproofed, then. 

The door opened and in came the same two scientists, the old man still with that relaxed, friendly look on his face as he waved to Zanka and said something he assumed was a greeting. 

Zanka raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow and the man seemed somewhat embarassed, moving over to an area on the benchtop to press a button that made sound crackle out of an intercom somewhere above Zanka.

"Sorry about that, force of habit. I take it you can hear us alright?" 

He expression didn't change as he raised a middle finger in response, glad his left hand had been secured palm up for some reason. 

Blow dart guy made a movement that was either stifling a laugh or clearing his throat, the lack of sound making it hard to tell the difference. He could not get a read on that guy. 

"I'll take that as a yes." The man said agreeably and moved his hand off the intercom as he continued to say something to the others that Zanka couldn't hear. In response, the shorter guard nodded and left the room while blow dart guy walked over to the area Zanka was in and opened the door, which was unfortunately located behind where his chair faced instead of in front of it, and got to work.

He started to connect things from the machine to his collar and arms. It was killing him that he couldn't turn his head to look. Even looking left at the lab was a strain on his eyes he couldnt keep up for too long. 

Once finished with the wires, the man came around on his left and stood just in his peripheral vision. They sized each other up for a moment before the man, still with a hint of that strange accent, simply said "Spit on me and I won't flush the toxin from your system." and walked forward to pull on his hand, testing the extent of its mobility while shackled, which wasn't much.  Zanka was really tempted to do it anyway, but he was playing the long game, and decided it probably was better to behave himself for now. Especially in front of the guards. 

The guy seemed satasfied and left, a vaguely smug energy about him from getting Zanka to behave. He just needed to stay composed. 

The outside door opened again and all thoughts of composure left Zankas mind immediately as he saw the shorter guard holding Lovely Assistaff. 

He thrashed, all logical thought forgotten, moving like a man possessed as he tried to break out of his bindings with sheer strength and force of will. He needed to get to her, he needed to get that guards filthy hands off her. 

The old man looked delighted as he started writing in his notebook, mumbling something as he went.

Zanka panted, each futile movement pressing against what he already knew would become bruises, and tried to calm himself down. So much for playing his cards close to his chest. 

The intercom crackled again.

"So, G012-b, On a scale of one to ten, how deep would you say your bond is with your vital instrument?" 

Zanka just glared. He was done playing nice, and unless the man was gonna tell him step by step instructions on how to break out of the facility, he was sure he had no information worth "trading". 

"Based on your reaction I'd guess it's rather high, but it really would help us to get a number, even if its subjective." 

When Zanka escaped he was making a pit stop to kill this guy. Hopefully with assistaff.

"Well, no matter. Let's begin then, I'll explain as we go."

A familiar, burning pain started spreading from the back of his neck through his veins.

"Today we'll be testing your endurance with your instrument, seeing at what pain threshold your body releases it."

Wait, did that mean they were going to let him-

The door behind him opened, and from behind, someone –one of the guards, presumably– pushed the head of Lovely Assistaff up to his open left hand, still holding on to the bottom. 

The instant his hand closed around her he could feel her soul thrumming, and he felt his own soul resonate with it as he took the chance to transform her from wood into her signature sleek blue metal. There had to be some way he could use this to his advantage. He wished he could swing her, or move her at all more than a few inches, but he was well restrained, and even her spikes wouldnt help if he wasn't facing the enemy. 

"Excellent! Just beautiful. Now, please keep it transformed for as long as you can stand it."

Then, the guard started to pull her away, out of his grip. 

"I understand you might be tempted to tap out of this one early, but getting accurate results is very important to us, so as an insurance method, we're going to hang on to it. I'm sure you're aware your staff is much more...vulnerable in its untransformed state."

He tried to hold on, tried to keep his grip solid with everything he had in him, but he had no leverage, and the guard was too strong. And far too soon, Lovely Assistaff was ripped from his hand.

"But that's the great thing about vital instruments! They can be made from trash and things falling apart at the seams but when they're activated they become near invulnerable!"

They had assistaff in the lab now, metal and glowing. His eyes widened when he saw a bunson burner, lit and sitting on the bench. 

"It's simple, as long as you keep your instrument in its transformed state this fire will do nothing more than heat up the metal. I promise it won't get anywhere near melting, and should have no lasting effect on it. But if you try to skew our results or end this trial early by deactivating it, well. I imagine the wood won't fare quite the same."

He opened his mouth to scream at them, soundproof wall be damned, before an increase in pain reminded him he still had poison in his system, and it was getting worse.

"When I get outta here," He grit out, jaw clenched, "you're all dead. Every one of you. And I," He had to focus, he had to keep his eyes on them. "I am going to make it hurt."

The older scientist just smiled, and continuted to write his notes.

They didn't want him to mess up their "results" by quitting early? Fine. He'd mess up their results by being an outlier then. He'd blow their god damn test out of the water, and he'd keep Lovely Assistaff activated so long that the data made no sense and became functionally useless. It was just a little pain, that was nothing to someone like him. He'd show them. 

...

He'd done it. He was hazy, and his entire body was trembling, and he had no idea how long it had been but the flame was gone and Lovely Assistaff remained. Still metal, still transformed. He couldn't release. He heard the intercom again and it sounded like a foreign language. He kept his eyes looking to the left, looking at Assistaff in all her glory. 

There was an exchange of words behind the glass and suddenly he was exhausted, familiar numbness locking his tongue and weighing down his eyelids. He didn't have the strength to fight it and just let himself go, trying to get one last glimpse of Lovely Assistaff before he did, trying to mentally send her his love and gratitude for withstanding it with him.. The power....of an average joe.......

...

For once, Zanka woke up to a tranquil silence, and was immediately unnerved because of it. Looking over –ignoring the headache that pulsed when he moved his eyes to the side– he saw that it was because Jabber was still asleep. He worried about the implications of that for a moment before realizing he was in a completely different area and position from when the guards had dropped him, so at some point he'd woken up and simply decided to knock out again. Or something had happened with the guards when they'd brought Zanka back. He wouldnt put it past him. Or them. 

Zanka stretched out all his limbs, and took inventory of his body. The areas where the cuffs locked were still sore from his trashing, and when he moved his eyes to the side his head briefly pulsed with pain, but other than that and a dry throat he seemed alright. 

Jabber was sleeping on his back, head tilted to the side and one leg bent. His left hand had ridden up his undershirt, palm splayed out across his now partially visible stomach. 

For some reason, Zanka felt himself filled with curiosity and moved silently towards the bars to get a better look. The skin on his stomach looked surprisingly soft, and the area only had a few small scars, most of which he'd be willing to bet were self-inlficted. It was no easy feat to land a hit on Jabber. The wrap around his waist seemed to sit lower than usual, and Zanka could see one of his hip bones and the deep V of his pelvis. He felt the tips of his ears burn as he sharply moved his traitorous eyes up towards Jabbers face before they could drift any lower. 

Looking at Jabber's sleeping face wasn't much better. His locs fanned around him like sunbeams. His lips were parted and his mouth was slightly open, and with his eyes closed and face relaxed he looked peaceful, a descriptor that was so completely at odds with everything Jabber represented that it would have been funny if it weren't so strangely captivating. 

Zanka had to get a grip. What was he doing?? He should be taking advantage of any time he had without Jabber assaulting his senses to be planning his escape, not sitting there ogling his enemy like a creep. He couldn't even blame it on the concussion anymore. It was an issue of pure willpower, which stung even more because his will was all he had, but his brain (and body) apparently seemed intent on betraying him at every available opportunity when Jabber was involved. 

He took a few deep breaths to center himself, and was grateful for the small mercy that Jabber hadn't woken up, or god forbid been faking sleep to catch Zankas reaction. He just needed to get himself under control. He was better than this. It was just because of the situation they were in, that was all. He could beat whatever stupid stockholm-syndrome-esque nonsense was affecting his psyche (he resolutely ignored the part of his brain that reminded him stockholm syndrome was only for captors, and also that this particular issue had extended before their capture) and go back to feeling disgusted and angry at the sight of Jabber and nothing else. He just needed to lock in. He could do that. He was in control of his own mind, and he'd prove it. This couldn't be any harder than what he'd just done in the lab.

...

When Jabber finally woke up he did so with a large yawn and stretch that displayed even more of his lower pelvis area, the removal of his hand revealing the start of a dark happy trail- DAMNIT. He seriously needed to slam his head into the wall. Over and over again.

Jabber sat up slowly and wiped a thin line of drool from the corner of his mouth, eyes still mostly closed and looking like he could fall back asleep at any moment. He sleepily scanned his surroundings, and like a compass finding north, he turned towards Zanka.

"Oh hey, when'd you get here?" His voice was still raspy from sleep and Zanka had absolutely no feelings about it whatsoever. 

"I've been here, you've just been sleeping the whole damn time."

"Oh shit, my bad. How long was I out?"

"Hell if I know. You were out when I woke up, and its probably almost dinner by now."

Jabber hummed, rubbing his eyes before smiling that signature cheshire grin. "You sound kinda butthurt about it, did'ja miss talkin to me?" 

"Just annoyed you woke up, I thought maybe they'd done me a favor and killed ya for good." 

Jabber hummed again, pleased, and stretched his arms above his head, causing a litany of pops from his shoulders and back –seriously, that could *not* be healthy– before finally opening his eyes more than a sliver and looking at Zanka with his regular, hungry look. The return to form was honestly comforting. 

"Nah, they couldn't kill me if they tried. They're so weak they won't even unlock the door without those remotes. And besides, you know I'm saving that honor for you." 

...

Apparently the previous days schedule was now the blueprint for all the following ones, and they began to settle into something of a routine. Wake up, eat, get dragged off for experiments, wake up again, talk argue, eat again, sleep. Rinse and repeat. The days blended together and through it all, shockingly, Jabber's presence helped him stay sane. He was infuriating, and a complete freak, and other than the threat to Mankira he didn't seem concerned at all with the torture-disguised-as-science that was being enacted on them. But even so, it was nice to have someone to talk to, even if some of the stuff that came out of Jabbers mouth made him want to throttle him, and of all the emotions that threatened to suffocate him when he sat and thought too hard for too long, anger was easiest to deal with. It took an embarassing number of times where Jabber ragebaited him out of a negative thought spiral before he wondered if he was doing it on purpose. 

...

Who woke up first on any given day was something of a tossup at first, but Zanka quickly settled back into what he assumed was his normal circadian rythmn of waking up around dawn, meaning on most days he'd get to wake up in peace instead of being hounded by Jabber. On one such day he remembered he still had the shoe Jabber had thrown at him to wake him up, and decided to return the favor. Part of him lamented giving Jabber his ammo back, but the sound he'd made when Zanka had absolutely beamed his half-sleeping form with it made it well worth it. Unfortunately, it had started a slow sort of game between the two of them where they'd try to throw said shoe through the bars as hard as they could to hit the other person when they weren't paying attention. It was hard to line it up with the bars with enough speed and easy enough to dodge when you could see it coming, so biding their time and waiting to catch the other off guard was key. It shouldn't have been fun, and it probably only was because he was so starved for anything intresting to do, but he found himself enjoying it regardless, and was glad to get up early knowing it gave him the upper hand. 

However, it also meant his body wanted to fall asleep earlier, something Jabber seemed loathe to let him do. Whenever he started to nod off during one of their conversations or games Jabber made it a point to try and keep him awake by any means necessary, including getting him with the shoe a couple times. They'd decided no throwing it while someone was fully sleeping, since that negated the point of having to be stealthy, but half-asleep was fair game. Once, Zanka had caught it out of the air and immediately sent it back towards Jabbers face. He'd caused a nice goose egg on jabbers upper forehead that paired terribly with his disgustingly lovestruck expression.

...

The experiements on their vital instruments continued, though what they were testing seemed to change day by day. Sometimes it was transformation limit, other times it seemed they were testing his activation speed. For some reason they seemed really interested in the idea of remote activation, or even just activation without direct skin contact, but as hard as they tried, nothing ever came from those tests, and they usually ended up pivoting to something else for the day. One time, they'd tried to bring in an exact replica of Lovely Assistaff to see if he could activate it just by believing it was his instrument. The test ended up being a bust for them anyway because the second he laid eyes on it he knew it wasn't his treasure. It was honestly insulting more than anything, and the choice words he'd had for them because of it definitely resulted in a rougher than usual poison run to "retest his endurance benchmark." 

...

He woke up gasping sometimes, not sure whether he was in the cell or the lab. Nightmares were much harder to dismiss when they were indistinguishable from real life, and sometimes he worried he'd lose track of what had really happened to him and what his unconscious mind had made up. He was glad Jabber was such a heavy sleeper, as sometimes he just needed to curl in a ball and get his hands to stop shaking, and the idea of Jabber catching him in such a state was mortifying. 

It was worse when he had nightmares about the cleaners. It started with his team being captured, being subject to the same torment he was because of Zanka's negligence. He heard their screams in the chair and agreed with every word they said when they blamed him for it. But worse still were the dreams where they'd find him, where they'd break in with guns blazing only to find Zanka in the cell, pathetic and mentally beaten down and entirely uninjured, having not gone for even a single escape attempt. The ones where they'd laugh at him and leave him there, not wanting to bring dead weight back on their team, no matter how much he begged pleaded as he tried to force himself through the bars, reaching desperately for their backs as they left him behind.

Those were by far the worst. 

Still though, the human brain really could get used to anything, and after a maybe a week and a half the sleep deprivation, arguments, and daily torture were almost mundane. He didn't lose sight of his goal, though.

After the first week, he'd had to come to terms with the fact that no one was coming to save them. Not from the cleaners or raiders. So he'd need to do it himself. He'd been slowly gathering information, making a plan. There were still quite a few unknowns, but he had the base of something that could work. He just needed the right opportunity to strike, and he knew how to create it. 

By the end of the week, he'd be out of there or die trying. 

Chapter Text

Two –maybe three? He wasn't sure anymore– weeks was a long time when there wasn't much else to do but gather information and plan.

The guards and scientists were careful, but Zanka had always been good at observing, good at finding any slight detail or misstep that he could use to give himself the upper hand. It was a necessary tool for the average like him, and something that allowed him to turn the tides even on a stronger or more gifted opponent. Here, he'd use it to swing the odds back in his favor. It had been worth it to stay mostly quiet, to bide his time and make himself seem like less of a threat. Clearly, they'd let their guard down. And he'd make them regret it.

He mentally compiled all the info he'd gleaned so far:
-The kitchens were somewhere to his right, and definitely contained knives.
-There was at least one unlocked door in the direction of the kitchen, that would be his best bet.
-The guards couldn't electrocute him while he was in physical contact with someone else, unless they wanted to shock them too.
-The labs and the right side were connected by another hallway.
-Lovely Assistaff was being held somewhere within a 3 minute walk of the lab room they always took him to. 
-The shorter guard always seemed to be the one to interact with him physically, and opposite for Jabber.
-The shorter guard kept the lanyard with the keycard and handcuff keys in their right pocket, while the taller wore it tucked into their shirt.
-The guards wouldn't handcuff him to bring him back to the cell if he was passed out, and there was always a moment when one had to let go to unlock and open the cell door.
-They only ever used the remotes when they were in the same room, meaning there was a large chance they could be blocked by a wall or door.
-The keycards seemingly unlocked all electronic doors, if he could get one it would probably unlock his collar as well.

It allowed him to create the base of a solid plan. The only big obstacle left was the tranquilizer stored in his collar. Putting aside the fact that he needed to be awake on the walk back to his cell for his plan to work, getting a hostage would probably be his best bet for finding the exit given how labarynthine the entire place seemed, and even if they couldn't shock him they could still just put him to sleep without consequence. 

Luckily, the solution for that presented itself one day in the lab when the old man had casually let it slip that the potency of the tranquilizer degraded over time while talking –mostly to himself– about how they'd need to refill his collar soon. The man's fatal flaw truly was how much he loved to talk about his "work". And Zanka was more than willing to take advantage of it.

Even without the information, he could tell that the chemicals typically used to end their sessions were losing their kick. Over the last week especially he'd been able to fight it longer and longer, though made sure each time to make it look like he was passing out just as fast as usual. 

He needed to find the balance between waiting until the tranquilizer was weak enough that he could stay awake as long as he needed to get out, but not so long that they'd refill his supply and he'd be back at square one. It helped that unlike Jabber, they werent dosing him at pickup as well. Still, he probably only had a handful of days left to make his move.

He knew it was time when he managed to stay awake all the way back to the cell, albeit hazy and disoriented. A problem that was only exacerbated by making sure his eyes stayed closed and body limp like a ragdoll. If they didn't refill it the next day he'd be able to put his plan into action. 

...

He thought sometimes about getting Jabber involved, but only briefly. While it was true he was a strong fighter, he was just too much of a wildcard to really consider it. He couldn't trust that Jabber wouldn't waste time trying to seek out fights with the guards or anyone else in the building once free. Or with Zanka. 

Plus, his plan relied on being able to get out of range of the remotes as quickly as possible, and it would be practically impossible to free Jabber and do that. 

Part of him felt guilty about the idea of leaving Jabber behind, but he quickly squashed it. Jabber had tried to kill him or leave him for dead numerous times, he was simply returning the favor. He only felt guilt because of their temporary alliance.  But thats all it was. Temporary. Whatever fragile truce they'd built was fickle, and whatever bond they had was based soley on their forced proximity. Once they got out all bets would be off. 

...Maybe once he got out he'd find some way to tell the raiders where he was so they could come deal with him. Except that would be actively helping the enemy regain a powerful fighter, he'd have no way to explain that. Maybe he'd inform the Hell Guard. The idea sent a familiar pang of panic through him, both at the idea of having to contact his family and the knowledge that whatever they'd do to Jabber would likely be even worse than what he was enduring here. The Cleaners then? Maybe he could convince them to raid the place and shut down whatever the organization was.  And when they found Jabber surely they'd want to take him for interrogation. Though they'd probably end up letting the Hell Guard have him anyway. 

He'd figure out what to do with Jabber later, for now he just needed to get out first. 

...

The next day came, and with it came the usual trials. It was hard to really pay attention to anything though, too busy waiting for the sedative, wondering obsessively if he'd managed to plan and time everything correctly. He'd only get one chance.

When the experiment was finally over and he felt the familiar feeling wash over him lightly, he could have cried with relief.

It had been the right move to wait another day, the tranquilizer wasn't weak enough to be entirely negligible, but it was weak enough that he could stay awake without much trouble. Not that he'd let them know that.

It was go time.

He relaxed his body, taking slower breaths, trying to lower his heartrate. The tranquilizer, dull as it was, helped on that account at least. 

Steady, slow breaths at a constant rate. That was the key. 

He was completely limp, eyes closed, and made sure not to react at all to the sound of the door opening and people coming in. He waited, and even after they disconnected him from the machine and undid his restraints he waited still. 

Two pairs of arms grabbed his biceps and hoisted him upwards. He remained completely limp even as the position tugged painfully at his shoulders. 

He felt them drag him out of the room and along the now-familiar series of turns, only in reverse. They paused to scan the keycard, and then he could tell by the musty smell alone that they were back in the original corridor of cells. Almost there. Almost time. 

They marched his body down the hallway, and when the guard on his right –hopefully the taller guard, or he was in big trouble– let go to unlock and open the cell, Zanka struck.

He opened his eyes and planted his feet under him in one motion, ramming his body to the left and into the unsuspecting guard still holding him, knocking them off balance while at the same time he made a grab at their right pocket. It seemed lady luck didn't hate him entirely because it was in fact the shorter guard who had been left holding him, and his fingers closed around a long lanyard cord.

The continued momentum sent the guard crashing to the floor, and Zanka almost landed on top of him, just barely managing to save himself from stumbling over as he tore his arm free and broke into a run. Dual sounds of alarm from the guards and a disbelieving shriek of laughter from Jabber echoed behind him but he paid them no mind, too busy sprinting like his life depended on it. Probably because it did. 

He rounded the corner, almost clipping it with his hip, and a gunshot rang out into the wall where he'd just been. He crashed through the push doors, now fully in uncharted territory, and was met with the choice of another hallway to the left or a set of double doors straight ahead. Luckily, the double doors had windows and he could see what looked to be the kitchen through them. 

He burst through them, and immediately scanned his surroundings. There was a bucket and mop next to the door, and he quickly shoved the long wooden handle of the mop through the vertical door handles before he tied them together sloppily with a rag, creating a makeshift barricade. It wouldn't hold for long, but hopefully it would hold long enough for him to arm himself and get the collar off.

The kitchen was medium sized, a bit bigger than what they had at Cleaner HQ and surprisingly well maintained. Looking around frantically, he saw a knife block on the other side of the kitchen and beelined for it. 

The door he'd barricaded started to slam with heavy hits, somehow even louder than the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears, but his luck was holding for now. The lack of electricity probably meant that he'd been right about the remotes, and even among all the adrenaline he felt a tiny swell of smug pride.

He grabbed the biggest chef's knife he could find and tried to figure out his next move. He needed to get the collar off first and foremost, and he brought the lanyard with the keycard up to it to unlock it. Nothing happened. He moved it around all over the collar, trying to get it to click and unlock the way it did with the doors. Maybe he had to stick it in somewhere? He felt around desperately for some sort of slit or divet to swipe, but there was only that small, cylindrical extrusion on the back and more tiny round ports. Fuck. Fuck.

The banging got louder. He needed to go, collar be damned. He ran out of the back entrance to the kitchen and immediately collided with someone, sending them both sprawling to the ground. 

He scrambled for his knife, grabbing it and putting it in between him and the other person. 

It was a girl, probably not much older than him, with slim glasses –now askew– and long, dark grey hair tied into a high ponytail. She looked as surprised as he felt, and then she seemed to notice the knife, surprise quickly morphing into fear. 

For just a moment, he paused. She was wearing a uniform with the same insignia as the people in the labs, and she'd clearly been on her way to the kitchen, but there was still a chance she didn't know what was going on. 

In the academy he'd had to learn quickly how to size people up with a single glance, and he could tell with certainty that she was no physical threat, not to mention that she was clearly terrified of Zanka. He imagined he made a pretty scary sight, dirty and sweaty and waving around a knife with wild eyes. 

His moment of hesitation was punished by her activating her choker, yelling.

"Subject has bre-!"

Zanka punched her in the throat. 

Hostage route it was then. It was no effort at all to wrestle himself behind her and put his knife to her throat, right above her choker.

"Listen very closely, ya better answer or you'll be dead before anyone can get here. Where's the exit. How do I get back up to the surface." 

She just trembled, breaths coming in quick bursts. He pressed the knife in further, until there was a thin seam of red beading up.

"Now. I'm serious." He growled, and his voice sounded foreign to him.

At that she swallowed, and finally spoke with a shaky voice.

"T-there's two elevators, one in sector A and one in sector D, b-but you need a keycard for both and-"

"Where the hell are sectors A and D?"

"Sector A is the dormitories and sector D is on the left side of the labs just pleasedonthurtme-"

He heard the sound of wood splintering, and a giant crash. Shit. He was out of time.

"Get up! Move! You're taking me to whichever one's closer." 

They didn't get the chance to run more than around twenty feet before the doors crashed open once more and in came the two guards, guns drawn and looking absolutely livid. Zanka pulled the girl in front of him as a shield, knife still at her throat. 

No one moved. A stalemate. Zanka cleared his throat.

"Listen. Just let me go and I won-"

Apparently his luck had run out, since the next thing he experienced was the familiar hot-white pain of electricity, causing him to choke out a pained groan and the girl he was holding to scream as they both seized up and collapsed to the floor.

No. He'd been so close. 

He pushed himself up on his elbows, muscles screaming, as the sound of heavy boots got closer.

No, not yet. Not like this.

With a final surge of strength, he pushed himself onto his feet and surged onward down the hall away from the guards, slamming partially into the wall as he went but staying mostly upright. He'd dropped the knife but maybe if he could just round a corner, maybe-

Another gunshot rang out and this one did connect, sending a piercing, searing pain all the way through his left shoulder, and he crashed face first onto the ground. The impact only made the wound hurt worse and he was delirious with pain. He could feel the blood pooling around his shoulder, soaking through the front of his uniform. 

The footfalls of heavy boots came near his head once more and in his final moments of conciousness he hoped his blood at least made one of them slip and fall. Then he blacked out entirely. 

...

Zanka wakes up hazy, and in bursts. If he had the wherewithal to think properly he'd probably be surprised to wake up at all, but as it was all he could do was barely grasp conciousness as the world drifted around him, coming and going in strange puzzle pieces that made no sense. Being dragged down a hallway backwards by his collar....faded voices coming in and out...."-re trouble than he's w-"........"not finished wi-".......being shoved onto some sort of table......the feel of liquid being sprayed and an intense stinging where it touched......"-ood loss if we don-".....and then another, hotter, more intense and concentrated pain worse than anything he'd experienced so far....the sound of someone screaming and crying, only pausing when he inhales, air like glass in his throat...."-nder who this 'Kyouka' is, furthe-"....at some point Lovely Assistaff is there, but then he blinks and she's gone........everything hurts, and then finally the darkness seems to take him for real.

...

When he woke up in the cell he felt dead. Like a living corpse, soul not permitted to pass through to whatever was beyond, cursed to lay frozen and rot for eternity. It was quiet, and the irregular drip of the ceiling threatened to drive him insane. It probably would if he had the energy. He opened his eyes, looking at the ceiling, and just wondered why he was still alive. 

He'd failed. His big plan, his last ditch effort. And it had failed. 

He just laid there, numbness overtaking everything. And then loathing. Of course it hadn't worked. Of course he was still trapped here. Of course even his best hadn't been enough. Damnit. He'd been so close. Always so close.  

He brought his right hand up to his shoulder. Through a hole he could feel that underneath the fabric of his uniform were white bandages. They seemed to wrap around his torso and neck too, but only to keep the main ones in place. 

He wondered again why they'd kept him alive. But it wasn't really a question. He wasn't a threat anymore –they'd been able to prove they could neutralize him pretty effectively, and the same trick wouldnt work twice– and, more importantly, they probably still needed to finish up their experiments. 

It reminded him of his first day in the lab, of them zapping him awake, not letting him pass out from the pain. He wondered how many times they'd fix him up, how long they'd keep him there, not letting him die. 

Something came over him at that thought, a different kind of anger and fear. Being trapped was one thing, being experimented on was one thing, hell, even the idea of them killing him was awful but par for the course. But the idea of them doing the opposite, forcing him to stay alive for who knows how long? That was worse. And if they expected him to just sit pretty and let them heal him just so they could keep using him, they were dead wrong.

He pulled back the bandages, ignoring the aching pain still lancing through his shoulder. He was no ones pet, he was no ones plaything, and they didn't get to decide when he was done living. 

He finally reached skin and instead of stiches to yank out he felt only tough, thick, warped skin that stung with every touch.

The feel of it snapped him out of it and he ripped his hand away. What was he doing?? 

He took a moment to just breathe, and he noticed his whole body was barely trembling. What the hell, he hadn't seriously been about to- no. Of course he hadn't. He hadn't. 

He'd just needed to remind himself that he could. If he needed to.

He did his best to smooth the bandages back out, fingers moving against his own wound almost apologetically. He'd almost done something really stupid. 

He suddenly remembered he wasn't alone, and in a panic looked over towards Jabber's cell. Luckily, a barely moving lump right next to the bars confirmed he was there and asleep, and Zanka was grateful for it. It was probably night then, the only question was how far in. 

He looked back up at the ceiling. 

Usually he'd take this time to think about how to escape, but now the idea just stung. He couldn't handle it right now. 

Instead, he thought of the Cleaners, like he had on the first night. He wondered, not for the first time, what they thought had happened to him, and if they were still looking for him. He hoped that they were, almost as much as he hoped that they weren't. If they hadn't found him by now they likely never would; when blow dart guy took him he was probably smart enough to not leave behind any trail to follow. It was a fools errand. But some selfish part inside him really hoped they were trying anyway. He hoped they missed him. 

He hoped Rudo was keeping along with his training, the brat had a fire in him that Zanka could begrudgingly respect, even if he was the type of natural talent Zanka resented. Rudo was trying to become a better person, and every day he was improving, both emotionally and with his vital instrument, progressing at a rate fitting of a genius. Still, without Zanka there he'd better not be slacking or he'd pay for it on the battlefield, prodigy or not. Hopefully Enjin and Riyo were keeping him in line. Enjin and Riyo...how were they holding up? 

Honestly, those two were probably doing the same as ever. They'd managed just fine before Zanka got there, and it stood to reason they'd be the same after he left. He hoped Riyo was able to find someone else to be herself around though, he of all people knew how exhausting it was to wear a mask all the time. Maybe Rudo would fill his role in that regard, she seemed to have really taken a shine to him since he joined. Though part of him doubted Rudo had the social or emotional fluency to see past the fronts she put up, much less notice the things she herself tried to ignore, like how she tended to linger in the infirmary longer than anyone else and snag sweet drinks for their resident healer every time she got the chance. 

And then there was Enjin. Zanka worried about him most of all. He wasn't self-centered enough to think his dissapearence would be the kind of thing to throw the older man off his game, but he knew it must have screwed a lot of things up for him logistically, and felt horribly guilty for it. He only hoped Enjin didnt think it had been a waste to take him in, even if he hadn't amounted to anything in the end. Even if he never had been able to prove that an average joe could beat a genius. He was still eternally glad Enjin had found him in the well that day. Even if it ended up with him here, he still wouldn't change anything. 

If they could see him now...

Probably best not to think about that. 

...

He didn't get any sleep, despite how exhausted he felt. He wasn't sure how many hours it had been before he heard Jabber start to stir beside him. 

Jabber always seemed slow to wake, movements sluggish and eyes squinted, and he tended to let out big, lasting yawns that reminded Zanka of a cat. 

Eventually he realized Zanka was there and that seemed to perk him up slightly. 

"Yoo, Zankaa. You watchin me sleep? Didn't know ya'were," He let out another large yawn. "didn'know you were into that." He said sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

Then it seemed he remembered what had happened yesterday and actually woke up, eyes fully open as he looked over Zanka. 

"Oh shit wait, you tried to make a run for it!" He cackled. "How far'd you get? Not gonna lie, I was lowkey surprised they brought you back in one piece, they seemed piiissed. So what'd you see? And how'd they catch you?"

Petulantly, a part of Zanka wanted to withold the information he'd hard won. What had Jabber said when Zanka had questioned him upon their arrival? "What do I get in return?"?

....Yeah, actually nevermind. Not a chance he was opening that can of worms. 

"I got past the kitchen. Apparently theres two exits, and one's in the lab area."

"Huh. And the other?"

"The dormitories. Wherever that is. Probably further right."

Jabber hummed, then looked at him again with that shit-eating grin.

"If you knew where they were why didn't you just leave?" 

Zanka felt his eye twitch.

"Probably cause by the time I found out, they were right on my ass. I would've if I could." 

"Awww, you're tellin me you didn't stick around to save me too? That's cold." Jabber fake pouted.

"I get out and I don't have to see yer stupid face ever again? Sounds like a win-win to me." 

Jabber just played up the pouting, smile betraying his true feelings.

"C'monnn, you know you wouldn't just leave me here, I'd get so bored without you. I'd have to bust out all by myself just to hunt you down."

"Well if ya can get out by yourself then I guess its not a problem I left ya, is it?" He replied sharply.

"It's about the principle of it, Zan-zan."

Zanka just huffed and tried to roll his eyes into the back of his head, not answering. He was happy enough to let the conversation about his humiliating attempt at escape end there. 

Though of course, Jabber, forever a heat-seeking missile towards things Zanka wanted to avoid, pressed onwards.

"Seriously though, you weren't even gonna let me know you were makin a break for it? I know we got our differences and all but I can keep a secret. I even coulda helped." He said with a wink.

"I don't need yer help."

Jabber just laughed, unbothered. The constant sound of it was really starting to get on his nerves.

"Right, cause you did so well on your own. Guess I'm just imagining you sittin here talkin to me. Must be the poisons, right?"

"At least I tried something!" He bit back "At least I want to get out of here! For a guy who claims to be so bored all the time ya seem pretty damn complacent to me." 

Jabber just shrugged. "I'm always bored. Plus I mean it's not too bad in here, all things considered. Some of the poisons are pretty interesting, and I'm learnin a lot about Mankira. Only thing I'm really missin is a good fight, and we could scratch that itch together if you'd just loosen up. I know you wanna."

"Ya don't know shit actually, the last thing I wanna do is get in some sloppy beatdown with you fer no good reason." 

"Man, why do you just keep lying all the time? Don't you ever get sick of it? I can see it in your eyes that you wanna beat the crap outta me, and I know you ain't scared of a little pain yourself, so whats the holdup?" Jabber said as he stood up, wrapping his arms lazily around the bars as he leaned on them and continued to talk.

"I mean we've been here for what, weeks? And other than that weak ass punch and the shoe throwing you haven't done shit, even though its obvious you wanna."

Zanka hated looking up at Jabber from the ground, and stood up to face him.

"Stop acting like ya know me, god you really piss me off."

"I *do* know you though. I told you before, with me, you're free. We're the same." 

Over the course of the conversation he'd gotten closer and closer to the bars. Even after noticing, he didn't back down. If anything, he got closer, getting up in Jabbers face.

"Let me get this through yer skull. I. Am nothing like you."

There was a tension now, strung taut and waiting to snap.

Jabber gave a *tsk tsk* that made a vein on Zanka's forehead twitch. "Ehh, you're kinda a shitty liar, especially when you look at me like that. You totally wanna punch me again. Go ahead, do it." He made a beckoning gesture with his hands and put his face right up to the bars. "C'mon, I'll even let you have the first hit."

He wanted to. He really wanted to. Even at this angle, if he did it right, he could probably hit Jabbers jaw with enough momentum to knock him out in one hit. Then he wouldn't have to listen to him anymore. But then he'd also be proving Jabber right. 

"We're the same"

Ha. That couldn't be further from the truth. Where Jabber had innate talent, Zanka had hard work. Where Jabber attacked indiscriminately, Zanka planned. Where Jabber let his impulses rule him, Zanka had self-control. Desires and inherent nature meant nothing, they could all be overcome with enough willpower. That was what really mattered.

He let his shoulders drop, body untensing. 

He was different than Jabber because he chose to be different. And he'd make that choice as many times as he needed to, for the rest of his life. Even when it was hard. Even when it physically pained him to not send a fist straight over into Jabbers stupidly punchable face. 

He closed his eyes, breathing out. 

"I told ya, I'm not-"

Jabber's fist slammed into his cheekbone and he reeled back.

"Son of a BITCH!" 

"Oops." Grinned a clearly unapolagetic Jabber.

He lunged forward, trying to hit Jabber back but missing slightly as Jabber tilted his head to the side, only clipping his ear. Zanka grabbed his shirt with the hand that had missed and didnt wait a second to send another punch with his other hand into Jabbers solar plexus, which was still pressed up against the bars. That one did connect, forcing a wheezing sound out of Jabber and filling Zanka with a sick sort of satisfaction, and with it began their brawl. 

It was hard to fight through the bars, on the rare occasions he had to fight unarmed Zanka preferred hook punches and sweeping kicks that mimicked how he fought with Assistaff instead of straightforward jabs, but there was no room for anything else. It was frustrating, the bars becoming an obstacle and a weapon at once as they pushed and pulled, punching and scratching and grabbing anything they could reach.

Zanka forgot how flexible Jabber was, as he ducked low to dodge a hit and used his grip on the bars to hold himself up as sent his heel directly into Zanka's knee, making him stumble as his right leg gave out on him.

"FUCK!" 

As he sprung back up he jabbed his fist forward, trying to re-break Jabbers nose, but he was too fast, leaning his head back so all Zanka's attack did was graze his chin. Zanka was fast too though, and instead he moved his hand down, grabbed the collar of his hood, and pulled towards him, causing Jabber to slam face first into the bars. Zanka tried to pull back and regroup but Jabber had taken advantage of the proximity, his own hand knotted in Zankas clothes keeping him locked in place, and Jabber used his other hand to grab at Zanka's left shoulder, digging his fingers into the still-healing bullet wound, ripping a scream from Zanka's throat as his vision temporarily whited out with pain. He grabbed both of Jabbers lapels and sent a high kick of his own directly into Jabbers kidneys, the pained "OOF" it pushed out only incentivizing him to do it again. And again. Jabber grabbed his leg and twisted him off balance, rushing forward to punch Zanka square in the face with his other hand. Zanka felt blood immediately start gushing from his nose but still didn't let go of Jabber, one hand keeping him in place as the other went for his face, sending an all-knuckle punch directly to Jabbers left eye, splitting the skin above it open. Before he could recover, Zanka stole Jabbers move and crouched down to fold in half and slam his heel forward through the bars, this time directly into Jabbers crotch, making Jabber keel over as breath left his lungs, along with an embarassing noise. 

Zanka took the chance to actually take a step back and breathe, limping a bit as he did. Jabber was still hunched over, hands cupped over the area, breathing hard. Zanka could see small drops of blood falling onto the floor from the cut above his eye, and felt his nose doing the same, probably dripping on his uniform. 

Jabber raised his head then, his curtain of hair parting as he locked in on Zanka with an even hungrier, desperate look. His pupils were blown wide, irises almost gone, and his face was flushed darker than Zanka had ever seen it. His breaths came out in pants, and his eyes started to go half-lidded as he ground against the heel of his palm. Absolutely disgusting. 

"Zanka" He breathed out, "Zanka" repeating his name like a prayer.

Red filled his vision and he marched right back over to the bars, feeling like he didn't have control of his body. He needed to break Jabbers ribs again, maybe that would get him to shut up. (He knew it wouldn't.)

"Stop sayin my name like that, ya freak. God, I really hate you." Zanka could feel his hands shaking. 

"Mmmm, yeah? Do- hahh, do something about it then, tough guy." Jabber managed in between pants, a particularly deep roll of his hips causing a delicious gasp to come out.

"Would you fucking- stop doing that!" 

The hand that wasn't currently on Jabbers dick came up to hold on to Zanka's hip through the bars, and he realized just how close he'd gotten again. Jabber didn't do anything but grip the fabic there, not even tightly, but Zanka felt completely trapped in place anyway. He felt feverish, overwhelmed and understimulated and he needed to do something.

"I hate you." He was also breathing hard, not just from the fight. His gaze was locked on Jabber, and he moved his right leg through the bars, harshly moving Jabbers hand out of the way and stepping down on his dick instead, causing Jabber to keen and fold over again, head pressing against the bars. "I really fucking hate you." 

Jabber was full on panting now, little noises escaping him with every huffed breath as he ground up against Zanka's shoe, his right hand joining his left at Zankas hips, moving from a steadying hold to a bruising grip as Zanka increased the pressure. 

Jabber didn't have any smartass reply, still slouched over looking at the floor, lost in his own pleasure, and Zanka hated it. He took his right hand and threaded it through Jabbers hair, before making a fist and yanking Jabbers head up sharply to make him look up at Zanka. A gasping moan tore from Jabbers throat as he did, and his eyes fluttered open to meet Zanka's.

He looked absolutely wrecked, eyes unfocused and face sweaty, with a small bit of drool coming out of his mouth. He swallowed and looked like he was trying to formulate words, but nothing came out. His movements against Zanka got more desperate. 

"Fucking pathetic. Look at you." Zanka's hands were still shaking and he felt high. He felt absolutely out of his mind. Jabbers eyes just rolled to the back of his head as he groaned, low and needy. His head tried to fall forward again but Zanka's grip on his dreads kept him upright, the pull making him whimper and the sound tattooed itself immediately in Zanka's brain. 

He took his left hand and moved it carefully through the bars so as to not hurt his shoulder any further, and wrapped it around Jabbers throat. Not pressing yet, just holding it there, feeling the movement of every breath dragging through to Jabbers lungs, every bob of his adams apple as he swallowed. At the feeling of it, Jabber's whines and moans only got louder, moving himself fervently before he seemingly reached an apex, giving one last loud groan and a few thrusts, before collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut, body trembling with aftershocks. 

Zanka just watched him, his own breath coming out shaky, before reality seemed to sink in and he dropped Jabbers head like he'd been burned, stumbling backwards. 

What the fuck. What the fuck was that. 

Without even looking down he could tell he had another issue too. He could feel the fabric of his pants straining and the sight of Jabber, still fucked-out on the cell floor, did not make it any better. What the hell had even happened. 

He needed to run away, or hide, or just be anywhere other than here but there was nowhere to go. There wasnt even anything to hide behind. He was trapped and completely exposed and the second Jabber looked over he'd be able to see what Zanka needed to keep hidden from him. He kept backing up until he ran into the wall, ignoring the still throbbing pain in his shoulder. He slid down it, and pulled his knees up to his chest, crossing his ankles for extra insurance to try and hide his shame. He made a fist around his thumbs and tried to will it away with everything he had in him. His knuckles still stung. 

Stupid. Stupid. He'd crossed a line he couldn't return from. And for what?? (The sound jabber had made when he pulled on his hair replayed in his mind and sent another rush of blood to his dick. Probably best to stop thinking about the "why".)

After a minute or so, Jabber picked himself off the ground with a pleased sigh, brushing his hair out of his face and wiping the drool from around his mouth. The cut above his eye was still bleeding sluggishly, painting a streak of red across his dark tan skin. He looked happier than Zanka had ever seen him. His head tilted when he saw Zanka on the other side of the room. 

"What, not gonna let me return the favor? I'll be nice, promise. Won't even use any teeth." He grinned. "Unless you want me to, of course."

The mental image sent another wave of heat coursing through him. This was hell, he'd died and gone to hell, that was the only explanation. He'd been beaten to death in that polluted zone and everything since was cosmic punishment for his wretched soul. It had to be. 

"Stop bein afraid, you ain't gotta hide your true self from me Zan-zan. I see you, clearer than anyone else does."

That was the worst part. 

"Do you ever shut up?" he grit out.

"I mean I definitely can, come back over here and I'll show you~"

He wanted to scream. He'd be happy to go to the lab right now if it meant leaving this situation. 

"C'mon, don't tell me you're just gonna stay over there, that doesn't look very comfortable." 

"Shut up. Just shut up. Can't you ever just leave me alone?!"

"Cool it, Mr. Bad Attitude, I'm just tryna help. Bein' a good samaritan and shit. Besides, you're one to talk when you can't seem to leave me alone either." 

"Only cause you-! Nope. I'm not doin' this right now." 

"Oh there's a lot you're not doing right now."

Zanka was seriously going to kill him. This was the nightmare scenario. And the worst part was that he had no one to blame but himself. 

Jabber continued to make salacious comments and Zanka tried valiantly to tune him out. Maybe a miracle would happen and the entire facility would catch fire and explode, killing everyone inside, him included. That would be preferable to what he was going through currently. 

An idea popped into his head. A terrible idea he'd probably regret. But he seemed to be doing a lot of that regardless and this at least had the highest chance of getting him what he wanted in the moment.

"Stop talkin' or I swear I'm never touching ya again."

Jabbers eyebrows shot into his hairline, but his mouth closed all the same.

Zanka would take a phyrric victory. 

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, once again wondering just how he'd ended up here. Jabber wouldn't stay quiet forever, better to set the terms while he still had the upper hand.

"Okay. Here's the deal. We don't ever talk about...this" He motioned between the two of them. "and once we're out, I'll fight ya as much as ya want."  Nevermind that the chances of either of them getting out, much less both, were slim to none.

Jabbers smile only grew, and he opened his mouth to speak before Zanka cut him off.

"I'm serious, one weird comment and the deals off."

Jabber's mouth closed again as he seemed to re-evaluate his words. Asshole.

"You drive a hard bargain-"

"Watch it." He warned.

"-but I guess I'll accept for now. Offer's open though."

He always had to push the envelope, didn't he. Still, it was as good a solution as Zanka was gonna get, so he'd take it.

For now.