Chapter Text
“Team Akuta, Team Child, thanks for assembling on short notice,” Corvus says.
“What’s goin’ on, boss?” Zanka asks. They stand as a group in front of Semiu’s desk, waiting for the assignment.
Corvus holds up a letter. “The Hellguard contacted us,” he says, “Requesting help on an upcoming mission to subdue the Raiders.”
Zanka furrows his brows. “…the Hellguard? Asking for help?”
“Exactly what I thought,” Corvus muses, thumbing at the letter, “They specified your teams to be sent, due to your ‘experience’ with the Raiders and the ‘vitality’ of your instruments.”
Zanka frowns, crossing his arms. Corvus watches him, waiting for his opinion. “It’s a ploy,” Zanka says finally, glancing over, “To finally get Rudo in their custody.”
“Huh?” Rudo says.
“The Hellguard don’t ask for help, ‘specially from us Cleaners,” Zanka explains, “But considerin’ we’re technically under their command, we can’t refuse a call for help without good reason. They know you’re here, but they don’t have any actual proof that lets ‘em bust in here and take ya away.”
“Correct,” Corvus says, smiling, “Well done, Zanka.” Zanka smiles a little, smug. “We’re inclined to accept their request. The Raiders are as much a problem for us as they are the Hellguard. However, Rudo, if you desire to stay back, you may. The Hellguard will very likely attempt to take you once the fight is over.”
Rudo furrows his brows, thinking. He looks down at his gloves, then back up again. “I’ll go,” he says, “I’m not that helpless anymore. I can escape if the situation calls for it, and I got a score to settle with the Raiders.”
Zanka is glad his mind went to ‘escape’ and not ‘fight’. Not being givers doesn’t mean the Hellguard are weak, after all—they’re one of the most powerful groups on the ground.
“We’ll keep you safe,” Bro says, patting Rudo on the shoulder, “Don’t worry about it.”
“Then,” Corvus says, clapping, “The mission is simple: Assist the Hellguard in subduing the Raiders without losing Rudo.”
“Yessir!”
Zanka settles in the back of the car, closing his eyes as he attempts to focus. It’s highly likely he’ll see Jabber again. His grip tightens a little on his Lovely assistaff. He fully intends to settle the score between them.
“Oi,” he says, turning to Rudo, “Don’t drop yer guard today, at all. Even when y’think yer out of danger.”
“Because of the Hellguard?” Rudo asks. Zanka nods.
“Nasty folk,” Zanka says, "They're not afraid to use some underhanded shit to get their way. I ain’t bustin’ y’out if ya get caught.”
“Asshole.”
“Shut up. Jus’ don’ be stupid, and you’ll be fine.”
“It’s okay, Rudo,” Riyo says, leaning over the back of the seat, “That’s just how Zanka shows his affection.”
“No it ain’t,” Zanka bites, turning away from them, “Shaddup.”
Riyo giggles. Zanka tunes them out to focus on mentally preparing for the upcoming battle.
For some reason, it didn’t occur to him just who among the Hellguard would most likely be dealing with the Raiders. He’d been so focused on the thought of fighting Jabber, that the sight of his siblings as he steps out of the car nearly causes him to trip.
He doesn’t, thankfully. He half hides behind Enjin as they approach, trying to be subtle in his avoidance.
Kyouka spots him anyways, but she’s always stood on business. So she’s quick to bark out her orders, eyes sweeping over their group. “We’ve been tracking the Raiders movements for a long time now. However, this is the first time we have a heads up on where they will appear.” Her eyes linger on Rudo, and Zanka shifts more towards the boy on instinct. This doesn’t go unnoticed.
Kyouka narrows her eyes slightly. Zanka purses his lips. “You’ve been called to help due to your previous battles against the Raiders,” she says, moving on, “Do not slow us down.”
“Yes ma’am,” Enjin salutes, smirking.
They set up a small camp on the outskirts of the old path the Raiders are supposed to travel down. They’re briefed on the mission plan, what to do, where to stand, who to fight. Zanka thumbs at his staff.
“Zanka,” Kyouka says, when everyone is dismissed to get into position, “Stay.”
Zanka freezes. Riyo shoots him a look, but he waves her off and steps up in front of Kyouka again. Once Riyo leaves, it’s just the two of them.
“I understand your last fights with the Raiders ended poorly,” she says, straight to the point as always, “I expect different results today.”
Zanka nods. “There will be,” he promises. He’s not offended, Kyouka has always been blunt in nature, and he knows when she’s trying to be mean. This is not one of those times. She nods at him, and he turns and leaves to get into position.
The Cleaners will each work within a team of Hellguard to subdue the members of the Raiders. Zanka crouches down behind a trash pile with his team, Follo with him assigned as part of the medical and recovery team should anyone get hurt.
They sit and wait. Zanka keeps his breathing even.
Minutes later the rumbles of a car pierce the air. Zanka tenses and shifts, ready to pounce.
When the Raiders fly over the road, the Hellguard throw out large spikes to pop the tires. The car spins out, and Zanka vaults over the edge of his trash pile.
Jabber’s already grinning.
He’d been thrown from the car when its tires burst, landing harshly on the road. Zodyl is stepping out of the car, a bored look on his face as he assesses the damage.
The other Raiders jump to the defense. Zanka lands on Jabber and rams the hilt of his jinki into his stomach.
“Mr. Bad attitude!” Jabber wheezes, his Mankira bursting to life, “Aw, y’came just f’little old me?!”
“Shut yer mouth!” Zanka barks, digging his heel into his hip harshly, “This is fer puttin’ me on that freaky hallucination shit!”
Jabber laughs gleefully, knocking him off and bouncing up. “But it was fun, wan’it? We had such a good laugh, man!”
Zanka swings low. Jabber jumps and lands on the edge of Lovely assistaff, so Zanka twists his hips and launches him into a pile of trash.
Jabber’s head pops back up, that manic grin still on his face. It drops quickly when he has to jump out of the way of swords from the Hellguard. “Who the hell’re you supposed to be?” He growls, “I only wanna fight Zan-Zan, not you weakasses.”
“What, can’t focus?” Zanka taunts, darting in behind him to jam his elbow into his spine, “The more the merrier, right?”
Jabber spins around to slash at him. “And here I thought we had somethin’ special, Zan-Zan.”
“You ever stop runnin’ yer mouth?”
“If ya hit me hard enough.”
Zanka growls, swinging again. Damn masochist.
They dance around each other for a while, the Hellguard slowing Jabber down some. They’re smart enough to jump in between Zanka’s attacks and retreat before Jabber can catch them in his claws, so no one’s gotten hurt yet.
Yet. And Zanka, somehow, always manages to jinx himself at the worst of times.
Jabber manages to throw him back. Zanka rolls right into Momoa, who is being guarded by Cthoni. She grabs him and drops him through a manhole. Zanka feels the ground give out from under him, and yelps as he’s suddenly falling.
He gets a glimpse of the ground before he hits. Not ridiculously far up, thankfully, except he catches sight of a metal hunk sticking out of the ground before his skull cracks against it.
“Zanka!”
Zodyl glances over at the loud shout. One of the cleaner supporters is rushing over to the limp body of Zanka Nijiku.
Kyouka Nijiku, across from him, clicks her tongue. Zodyl’s eyes slide back to her. She’s a formidable opponent, for a non-giver. Considering the size of their force, they’ve thought this ambush out well.
Her eyes are sharp. The sight of her youngest brother does not affect her ability to focus. Zodyl can appreciate her professionalism, even if it puts him at a disadvantage. Though, she does direct more guards to defend Zanka alongside the red headed Cleaner, so perhaps she’s not as detached as she would like.
Zodyl could work with that.
Jabber is already fighting towards Zanka, his strange obsession with the giver narrowing his focus. Bundus has been subdued by a crowd of Hellguard soldiers, his prosthetics not fully recovered from the last time they fought the Cleaners. Momoa is not a combatant, especially not compared to the soldiers, so she’s easily subdued. The other givers not helping with Bundus have managed to corner Cthoni.
Zodyl is no foolish man. He sees a lost cause when it’s shoved in front of him, and he will turn tail and run if it means he can see his plans to fruition another day.
He jumps back when Kyouka lunges at him again and sweeps his eyes over the field once more, assessing his options. Cthoni can’t make large manholes with so little shadow, so they’ll need to buy time for everyone to leave through the normal one.
His eyes land on Zanka again. He’s been stripped of his uniform, bandaged and tucked out of harms way on the outskirts of the battleground. Jabber is being overwhelmed by numbers, unable to reach him as he so clearly desires.
Zodyl looks back at Kyouka as he dodges another of her sword strikes. He can’t keep his eyes off her for long if he wants to keep his limbs.
“Jabber,” he calls
Jabber looks back at him. Zodyl pivots on his heel and lunges. Jabber grins, darting forward and using Zodyl’s back to propel himself into Kyouka full force, claws flashing. “You the sister?!” He cheers happily, clashing their blades, “Are ya as interesting as Zan-Zan, big sis?”
Zodyl flies over the crowd of guards with his coat, using the surprise at his sudden change in target to get around the Cleaners, and lands beside Zanka. He kicks the supporter next to him away and leans down to pick him up.
“Enough,” he says, keeping the boy tucked to his chest, “We’re leaving, or I kill Zanka Nijiku.”
The Cleaner’s freeze. Kyouka does too, but Jabber is distracted from the fight as he whines. “Can I do it at least?!” He yells, waving his hand, “Come on boss, I wanted to play with him longer!”
Zodyl looks at Cthoni. She grabs Momoa’s wrist and carefully passes by the Cleaners, who grit their teeth and focus on Zanka’s limp form. The Hellguard stand down, unsure.
His subordinates slowly make their way over to him, the air filled with tension.
It’s broken as Zanka shifts, and everyone jolts.
Zodyl’s eyes snap down. Jabber leans right in, grinning excitedly. Zanka curls in on himself, one arm sluggishly coming up to clutch his head. His eyes flutter open slowly, gaze unfocused.
“Zanka,” Enjin calls to him, voice a tad strained, “…careful.”
Zanka squints, glancing up. Zodyl tilts his head. He hadn’t seen how he got hurt, but a head injury of the kind he received would cause some serious damage. He doubts the boy would be well enough to fight, even if he tried.
Zanka stares at him. Slowly sweeps his eyes over the surrounding people. He squints at Jabber, who waves at him. “Good morning,” he says, “Are ya feelin’ better, Zan-Zan?”
Zanka stares at him. “Who the fuck are you?”
Jabber jolts back, blinking in surprise. Zodyl’s thoughts come to a halt as he registers his words.
“Zanka?” Enjin calls again, “You… you hit your head pretty hard.”
“No shit, with this headache,” Zanka grumbles. He glances up at Zodyl, pulling a face, and carefully wiggles out of his hold, standing on his own two feet. He sways a bit, then says, “Who the hell are you people?”
Interesting. Zodyl’s mind begins spinning, ideas and experiments spilling into his thoughts as Zanka assesses both them and the Cleaners with an unfamiliar gaze.
“Kyouka,” he says then, “What… what’s going on?”
Kyouka lets out a breath through her nose. So he remembers his sister, but not his coworkers. “It seems your head injury has resulted in memory loss,” she says, “Come here.”
Zodyl is a man of opportunity. He is a man who finds seeds to plant, who creates experiments and tests based on their possible results. Whether or not they succeed does not matter to him—the possibility of what could be and what he may learn is what he desires.
When an experiment presents itself to him, he sinks his claws in and doesn’t let go.
“Zanka,” he says, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder, “Do not listen to them. Your family has been desperate to get you into custody ever since you left.”
Zanka looks up at him, confused. “…what?”
If there’s one thing Zodyl can appreciate about his people, it’s their adaptability. “Well duh!” Jabber says, pressing Zanka’s staff into his hands, “You become a giver and a Raider! The Hellguard ain’t too pleased about that, ‘specially when you’re a Nijiku.”
Zanka scowls. “The hell would I join the Raiders for?”
Jabber just smiles. “To get stronger, obviously!”
Zodyl sees the moment the thought takes root. He watches the way Zanka slowly examines his position, surrounded by Raiders with the Cleaners and Hellguard his opposition. He sees the previous self doubt from before he become a Cleaner slip in as he glances at Kyouka while Goka steps up beside her, a frown on his face.
“Oi,” Rudo growls, “What the hell are you tryin’ to pull?”
“You’re the ones manipulating him,” Momoa argues, gently placing her oversized jacket on Zanka’s shoulders. It fits him well, “You injured him this bad already. If we don’t get him to a doctor soon, he could have permanent damage.”
“Exactly,” Enjin agrees, stepping forward, “So we’re taking him back. To the Cleaners. Where he’ll be safe, and where he belongs.”
“Enough of this,” Kyouka says firmly, “Zanka, come here. You’re too vulnerable with your memories gone.”
Zanka gently clutches Momoa’s coat, brows furrowed. “…why ain’t I in uniform?”
“Huh?”
Jabber is smart enough to lean out of Zanka’s sight when he grins, gleeful. Zanka is observant, and smart. Perhaps he’s not a genius in battle like he wishes, but Zodyl sees great opportunity in his insight.
Even if, at the moment, that genius of his is working exactly in Zodyl’s favour and against the boy himself.
“If I ain’t with them,” Zanka says, more sure, “Why ain’t I in uniform? Hellguard or Cleaners?” He grips Momoa’s jacket more firmly. “Why’s this jacket fit me so well, if it ain’t mine?”
“It’s hers!” Rudo protests, pointing at Momoa.
“Why would I have a jacket that doesn’t fit me?” She argues. The boy splutters.
Cthoni opens a man hole behind them, ready to escape. Jabber glances at Momoa when she steps back, and she has him lean down in front of Zodyl so she can whisper to him.
Zanka is too focused on hearing an answer to notice, waiting to hear what they say. “You were injured, so we needed to remove your uniform to bandage you up!” The supporter that had been caring for him says, “The Raiders took you as a hostage so they could escape!”
“You gave him this injury,” Zodyl refutes, “No one among the Raiders has a vital instrument that could cause this. You all have the instruments and more in bulk.”
Zanka glances back at the claim to assess. Jabber’s claws would have caused slashes, not a cut from blunt force. Bundus hands are far too large for how small the wound ended up being. Cthoni, Momoa and Zodyl himself don’t have weapons for direct combat that could have injured him.
The evidence piles against them, slotting Zanka more firmly on their side. Jabber rests his arm on Zanka’s shoulder then, claws displayed proudly as both a warning and a threat—Zanka is still very much their way out.
“Zanka,” Kyouka calls for him, “Why would you join the Raiders, of all people?”
Zanka furrows his brows. “I never was strong enough fer ya,” he says quietly, “I was always too average. If I joined them, it was to become stronger than I ever was with the Hellguard.”
“It’s not just that,” Jabber says, “You joined to be free, Zan-Zan. The Hellguard always made y’suppress who you really were—but we didn' care about that. We accepted ya anyways.” He bumps their heads together. “I would know. We’re partners, after all.”
Zanka squints a little. “Seriously? Why’re you my partner?”
“Cause we match so well!” Jabber says cheerily, “Aw, I can’t believe y’forgot about me so easily, Zanka! It’s been you and me for forever, man.”
“Zanka was on our team, not yours,” the girl says, emerald eyes flashing with something sinister, “Stop lying to him. He doesn’t belong with you.”
“Sure he does,” Jabber giggles, as Zodyl directs Bundus and Momoa to head through the manhole, “Zanka’s always belonged to us. I know everythin’ about him to prove it.”
“Then prove it,” Enjin challenges.
“He likes salt n’ spice more than he does sweet stuff,” Jabber lists off, “He enjoys drawin’, late night jogs, and black coffee.” He pokes Zanka’s cheek playfully, the picture of an old friend teasing him. “When he was eight, he fell’n the fish pond at his place tryin’ to copy his sis’ fightin’ moves.”
A pink hue jumps to Zanka’s cheeks, and he elbows Jabber in the side. “If I told ya that, I woulda also said not t’tell anyone else!” He hisses.
“How else am I supposed t’prove myself, Zan-Zan?” Jabber laughs. Zanka bears his teeth at him, then winces and grabs his head. Zodyl steadies him when he wobbles.
“The girl,” Goka protests, “She has an ability that lets her see memories. Don’t be stupid, Zanka.”
Zanka glares. “When would she’ve told me?” Jabber drawls, “We been sittin’ here the whole time.”
“Enough,” Zodyl says, final, “Zanka, head home.”
He guides him behind him, where Cthoni takes his hand to help lower him through the manhole. “Lay down once there,” Zodyl commands, “You shouldn’t be moving with a head injury like that.”
Zanka glances up at him, then Cthoni. His eyes sweep over the field one more time, taking in the angered and panicked faces on the Cleaners and Hellguard both. “…sure thing, boss,” he agrees, and lowers himself through the manhole.
Jabber’s laugh starts small, quiet giggles that shake his shoulders. Then it grows, louder and louder, more manic than before as he throws his head back and howls. “You’re the best!” He shouts, “You’re the best, boss!” He jumps around, excited. “I get Zan-Zan to myself! Yes!” He shivers, hugging himself tight. “God, I finally getta see him let loose…”
“You played along well,” Zodyl says, standing over the manhole and allowing Cthoni through first before gesturing for Jabber to do the same, “I’ll reward you for that.”
Jabber giggles, biting his lip in excitement. The man’s desire for pain is fascinating. He jumps right through the manhole, and Zodyl follows just as the Cleaner’s attempt to lunge at him.
He steps into the old basement of the abandoned building they’d claimed as their base. Jabber is prodding at Zanka’s head carefully, talking to him in a low voice. His smile is still stuck to his face.
“Cthoni,” Zodyl says, “Take Momoa with you to the closest town. See what you can get—we’ll have to last on those supplies, now that the Hellguard interrupted our stock run.” He glances at Zanka and lowers his voice. “Find things he would add to a room. Bundus will set up a space while we keep Zanka under supervision for his head injury.”
The two nod and immediately head out. Bundus, standing close enough to hear, sneaks off to begin setting up the room. “Zanka,” Zodyl calls, walking closer.
Zanka looks up at him, eyes tired. “You’ll be under Jabber’s care to ensure there’s no lasting effects from your injury,” he says, kneeling down to meet him eye to eye, “I’m glad we got you back safely.”
Zanka smiles, just a little. “…yeah. Jabber’s been givin’ me a rundown on what I forgot.” He pinches said man’s arm. “But he’s too damn happy to be nursin’ me.”
“Aw, but that’s my job as your partner!” Jabber protests, interlacing their fingers together, “Who else is gonna kick my ass if you can’t?”
“Yer a freak. Why’re we partnered together?”
“You work best together,” Zodyl says, standing once again, “I pair you together due to the results you bring.”
Zanka shifts a little. “…I got strong?”
“Stronger than ya were,” Jabber confirms, “But you haven’t beat me yet.” He pokes his cheek again. “Which is why ya gotta get better quick, so we can spar again.”
Zanka swats at him. “Bet yer ass I will,” he huffs, and glances at his jinki, “…might take longer than my head healin’, though.”
Zodyl tilts his head. “What do you remember?”
“I was at the academy,” Zanka says, bringing the staff closer and running his fingers over the wood, "Weapon selection was the next day. I guess… I picked this.” He shakes his head. “‘S all I remember though.”
“I see.” He turns. “Take your time readjusting. Jabber, ensure he doesn’t overdue it.”
“Yessir!” Jabber cheers, “C’mon, let’s properly bandage that wound! It was hard to wrap ya up in the middle of fightin’.”
Zanka lets Jabber help him up as Zodyl walks off, plans already formulating. He’ll have to have a meeting once Zanka is asleep and go over a proper story for everyone to follow, to avoid slip ups. Momoa will have to share the memories she’d managed to see when she touched him, to keep the authenticity of Zanka’s presence among the Raiders.
Zodyl hums to himself. This experiment is going well so far. He wonders how long it’ll last, and what results it might bring.
The best experiments are always the ambiguous ones, after all.
Notes:
This fic will NOT have the update consistency my last fic did I will try my best but have mercy please
I’ve had this idea bouncing around my head for a while. There were a couple ways I could take this: Zanka gets amnesia and is picked back up by the Hellguard, who turn him into a good little soldier happy to follow in his siblings footsteps. Lots of family angst potential. The OTHER idea was that Jabber loses his memory and gets picked up by the Cleaners, where he becomes part of team Akuta.
I do have another Cleaner! Jabber fic idea in mind tho… so maybe watch out for that… if I ever finish that draft XD
Anyway I hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading! (✿◠‿◠)
Chapter Text
Jabber wiggles in place, impatient. Zanka had fallen asleep after getting a proper bandaging and a small prick of some of Jabber’s pain numbing toxins. The ensuing meeting to get their story straight and come up with some ideas to keep Zanka from realizing he is not, in fact, a Raider is boring. Mind numbingly so.
“I only got a couple of memories,” Momoa says, “That story of him as a kid and a couple others. There was nothing vital, unfortunately, but I have enough to fool him.” She’s gotten a new jacket, smaller than her other one was.
Jabber clinks his rings together. “He’s pretty convinced.” He grins. “I can keep him, right boss?”
“That is the plan,” Zodyl says plainly, “But don’t mess up. Zanka is observant, he’ll catch any mistakes you make.”
Jabber nods. He knows that, of course he does. Zanka’s always quick on the draw, always able to catch the little details in the midst of a fast paced battle.
Jabber already feels himself throbbing from the thought of the fights they’ll have. “You can’t overdo it,” Cthoni says, snapping him out of his thoughts, “Until his head injury is healed and he can use his instrument again, you have to go easy on him.”
Jabber groans loudly, slouching down in his seat. “Fineeeeee.” He jumps right up. “Can I go watch him now?”
“Isn’t he sleeping?”
“Yeah.”
Momoa rolls her eyes. Zodyl nods. “Do as you please.”
Jabber giggles and scampers off.
He settles next to the makeshift bed in the room where they store all their medical supplies. Zanka is sleeping soundly, chest rising and falling. Jabber lays his head on his arms, watching his face.
As though aware of being watched, Zanka’s eyes flutter open. Jabber perks right up.
Zanka notices him a couple seconds after waking, turning his head. He winces, and mumbles something. “Hmm?” Jabber says, leaning forward, “Say again, Zan-Zan?”
“Gimme more o’that,” he grunts, managing to grab at Jabber’s hand, “Pain numbin’ stuff… my head hurts.”
Jabber feels an excited chill go down his spine. Oh, Zanka is asking to be poisoned by Jabber’s claws? His Mankira manifests easily, and he drags a shallow line across his hand. Zanka slumps back and lets out a contented sigh.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, peering at him, “Helluva useful poison.”
“Makes fighting much more fun!” Jabber agrees, “We always use it to spar longer. Though, ya can’t use it all the time.” He brushes his hair back to see the bandages beneath them. “I gotta change these, but boss says you probably gotta stay off missions for another three weeks.”
Zanka sits up with a small frown. “Dammit, ‘m gonna be behind on trainin’…” he narrows his eyes at him. “...do we fight often?”
“For sparrin’ n stuff,” Jabber explains, glancing around and moving to rummage through some of the boxes in the room, “I mean, I like a good fight. Nothin feels better than gettin’ my ass beat… y’always gave it t’me good too.” He grabs some bandages and weasels his way into the bed. Zanka tenses, but doesn’t protest when Jabber leans close to start peeling the gauze from his head. “Better than trainin’ on y’own, and I get my rocks off.”
“Damn freak,” Zanka grouches, “...ya usually so touchy?”
“I am,” Jabber snorts, “Guess it’s weird, ‘cause ya don’t know who I am anymore.” He nudges his cheek with a thumb. “Does it make y’uncomfy? Took ya a bit to get used t’me.”
Zanka frowns, curling his hands into Momoa’s jacket. His, Jabber corrects himself. It’s Zanka’s jacket now. “I’ll live with it,” Zanka huffs, “Until I can remember.”
“You’ll warm up to me again,” Jabber promises, re-wrapping the wound, “In the meantime, wanna try and activate ya jinki?”
Zanka glances at the staff by his side. He picks it up as Jabber leans back, watching him. He runs his hands over the wood, familiarizing himself with the feel of her. “It’s weird,” he says quietly, “It’s… familiar. I don’ remember it, but…” His hands curl around the staff naturally. “I feel like I know 'er.”
“You was the best with your instrument,” Jabber tells him, “Knew everythin' about her. Ya called her Lovely assistaff.”
“She is lovely, huh?” Zanka muses, resting it over his lap, “I was the best?”
“At care, yeah,” Jabber admits, splaying his fingers out and resting his head on Zanka’s shoulder. This feels natural, Jabber thinks excitedly. They truly do belong together. “I take good care of my Mankira, but you always went above and beyond. Knew everything about it ya could. It won’t take ya long to get to know her again.”
Zanka thumbs at the wood. “Yeah,” he agrees, relaxing a little, “Yeah. Sorry, I forgot about'cha. I hope you’ll lemme get t’know ya again.”
Jabber smiles. He’s so cute. He wants to learn more about him, figure out what makes him tick, what motivates him. He wants to get under his skin, to settle into his ribcage and make a home there.
Zanka turns to him. “Tell me more about the stuff we did. I wanna try and get my memories back as soon as possible.”
Jabber grins happily, leaning back. This is exactly what Zodyl wanted him to do. “Where to start… I’ll tell ya about when ya first joined. I kicked y’ass.”
Zanka growls. “I’m startin’ to see a pattern here…”
Jabber just laughs at him. He says that, but Zanka is still pressed into his side, not moving away from Jabber’s affections. This is perfect.
Jabber is going to ensure Zanka never wants to leave him again. He’ll give him a taste of freedom, so even if he regains his memories, he never dreams of running away.
Zanka wanders the halls of the Raider headquarters, running his hand over the cracked walls. He peers into his room, the place old and lived in. He rummages around, picking through trinkets and old clothes. Then he sits on the bed, made and tucked in from habit, and sighs softly.
“Y’good?”
Zanka glances up. Jabber is leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. He’s dressed down, with his dreads pulled up in a ponytail. “Yeah,” Zanka says, leaning back and falling into his bed, “Jus’ weird, not remembering.”
“I bet,” Jabber agrees, walking into the room and peering around, “Feel familiar?”
“No,” Zanka grumbles. Jabber throws his knee onto the bed and crawls in next to him.
Zanka tenses instinctively, then forces himself to relax. Jabber's casual touches still throw him off. They seemed like they were close, and the stories he’s heard clearly support that…
But it’s still odd to get used to it again. He moves over so Jabber has more room, staring at the ceiling. His headache is coming back. “Oi…”
“If I keep givin’ ya my poisons,” Jabber says before he can even ask, “You’ll grow immune to ‘em.”
Zanka huffs. Jabber presses his thumb to his temple, rubbing a bit. It soothes the ache slightly.
“The boss wants to talk to ya,” Jabber tells him, “Said he wants to assess yer mental state.”
“I’m fine,” Zanka says, “…But sure.”
Jabber jumps up, grabbing his wrists and pulling him off the bed. “Kay! After that, we gotta take ya into town. Need to have an actual doctor look at’chya.”
Zanka follows him out, his wrist still gently clutched in Jabber’s hand. “Hey,” Zanka says quietly, “…who are the others, again?”
“We got Cthoni, Momoa, and Bundus on the front lines,” Jabber lists off, “Fu’s disappeared and we’re pretty sure Norede’s killed herself when she overused her jinki…” Jabber shrugs. “We got some lower members too, but I dunno them. I don’t care about weaklings.”
Zanka hums softly. Weaklings… he doesn’t concern himself with weaklings, huh?
Jabber is weird. He’s odd, a complete freak. But… there’s something that draws Zanka in. He exudes strength with every action, and… freedom.
He’s the most free person Zanka has ever met. He envies that freedom, that carefree nature he displays.
Zanka wonders if he was ever that free with him. He hopes he was. He hopes he will be, again.
Zodyl looks up when they come into the room, chewing on something. “Zanka,” he says, “Come.”
Zanka walks closer and sits in front of him. Zodyl offers him something. “Your choker broke during the fight,” he says, “We got it fixed.”
Zanka takes it and reaches up to clip it around his neck. "Thanks."
“How is your injury?” Zodyl asks him.
“Hurtin’,” Zanka says, “But it’s fine.”
“Have you recalled anything yet?”
Zanka shakes his head. Zodyl hums, leaning back. “Jabber will take you to a doctor to get a proper diagnosis,” he says, “Then you can begin training once again. I know you dislike sitting still for long.”
Zanka relaxes a little at the promise of training, nodding. “I wanted to ask y’somethin’, actually.”
Zodyl tilts his head a little.
“About the Hellguard,” Zanka starts, “…did they… ever try and convince me to come back?”
Zodyl doesn’t hesitate. “They did not. You became a criminal the moment you joined us.” He dips his head. “They did not see you as their brother anymore.”
Zanka scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, figures…” he stands up. “Thanks, boss.”
“Get well soon,” Zodyl says, “Do not let Jabber bother you while you heal.”
“I’m startin’ to question the legitimacy of our partnership,” he huffs.
“Aww, don’t be like that!” Jabber complains, hanging off his shoulder, “We match each other perfectly!”
Zanka rolls his eyes. “Take me to an actual doctor, freak.”
“Okay, okay~ we’ll be back, boss!”
Jabber takes him down to the makeshift garage, which in reality is just the basement that has a large hole leading to the outside in the wall. They hop in one of the many cars haphazardly parked, and Jabber starts up the engine.
“Hold on tight!” He says cheerily, and slams on the gas. The car lurches forward, and Zanka scrambles for purchase.
“Why the hell can't ya just be normal?!” He shrieks, wincing as they’re suddenly thrown into the light of the afternoon sun.
“That’d be boring!” Jabber says happily, “And we gotta get there quick, I hate sittin' still for long!”
Zanka examines their current surroundings, squinting. He vaguely recognizes the area, and…
“Idiot!” He shouts, “The closest town is that way!”
“Is it?” Jabber says, cranking the wheel and making Zanka fling into the door, “Damn, sorry! Directions ain't really my thing.”
“No shit!” Zanka snaps back, “I’m seriously starting to doubt our partnership!”
“You just wait,” Jabber says, a feral grin on his face, “When we fight together, you’ll see. I’ll remind ya how free ya are with us, Zanka—that you don’t gotta hide who you truly are.”
Zanka goes quiet at the words, pursing his lips. “…shut up. And don’ make my head worse than it is with yer damn driving.”
“I’ll try and be gentle, promise~”
“It’s healing well,” the doctor says, rewrapping Zanka’s head after the examination, “Continue to rest and avoid any serious movement.” Zanka gives a pointed look to Jabber, who just shrugs unapologetically.
“Here,” the doctor says, handing him a bottle of pills, “This will help with the pain and any dizziness you may have. When it comes to amnesia, don’t push yourself to remember. The harder you try, the less likely it will happen, and can often cause more pain in the long run.”
Zanka frowns, but nods. “Alright… how soon do y’think I could get back to movin’ around?”
“Three weeks,” The doctor says. So in line with Jabber and Zodyl’s estimate, then, “After that take it slow. Build up to any serious movements.”
“Thanks doc!” Jabber says cheerily, dropping a pouch of coins on the counter, “See ya!”
Jabber hauls him out of the room while Zanka yells at him from his rough handling. “I’m surprised you paid ‘em,” Zanka grunts.
“We pop by often, ‘cause we don’t have a proper healer among the Raiders,” Jabber explains simply, “We pay and the doc gets work. It’s quiet here, so without us, this lil’ hospital would go out of business.”
Zanka hums in understanding, then bodily blocks Jabber from the driver side door. “I’m driving.”
“It’s dangerous when y’heads all fucked up though!”
“It’ll be less dangerous then whatever the hell yer driving skills are! My head's probably worse because of it!”
Jabber pouts. “Also!” Zanka yells, pointing at him, “Ya got lost several times on the way over! All y’had to do was drive straight!”
“Maaan, directions are so hard though,” Jabber complains, “Fine, fine, you can drive~”
Zanka slumps in relief and pulls the car door open. Jabber trots around to the other side and hops in, leaning back and getting comfortable in his seat. Zanka starts the engine, but his choker crackles to life before he can put it out of park.
“Zanka,” Zodyl’s voice rumbles through the device, “Have you left yet?”
“Not yet,” Zanka says, glancing at Jabber, “Why?”
“Cthoni and Momoa went out to gather supplies on their own last night. Without the dark, Cthoni’s jinki is not as effective—pick them up. They're twenty minutes northeast of the town.”
“Got it,” Zanka agrees, “Also, never let Jabber drive again.”
“…noted.”
“You’re so mean to me,” Jabber sighs, as Zanka puts the car in drive and begins heading northeast as asked, “I’m not that bad…”
“No. Somehow, yer worse.”
“And just when I thought I’d finally be allowed to drive you around…”
“Oh, so I didn’t allow ya before, and ya used my lack of memory to trick me, huh?!” He reaches over and smacks his shoulder. “If ya do that shit again, I’ll kick ya out and let ya walk back!”
Jabber giggles happily, nodding along. “Okay okay, so sorry~ promise I won’t trick ya again. What kind of partner would I be otherwise?”
Zanka rolls his eyes. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel as Jabber begins yammering on to fill the silence, content to sit and listen, answering in small hums and grunts.
He spots two figures in the distance some time later, lugging a couple of large boxes on a pulling cart. He rolls to a stop next to them and puts down the window. “Boss said to give ya a lift.”
Momoa groans, sweaty and slouched over. “Thank God… these things are heavy…”
Cthoni just nods and opens the back to begin loading the large boxes in. Momoa flops into the back seat, quickly leaning forward to crank the AC up.
“Hell of a walk,” Zanka says, furrowing his brows, “Why couldn’cha use Cthoni’s jinki again…?”
“My jinki doesn’t work well in the light,” Cthoni explains, peering at him through the rear view mirror from the open trunk, “So I can’t make big enough manholes to put these boxes through. The smaller stuff we got, but these we couldn’t. We also got them… less than legally, so the sooner we head back to base the better.”
Zanka nods. “Got it. Sorry, ya might have t’explain yer jinkis again sometimes…”
“It’s okay,” Momoa says, patting his shoulder sympathetically, “We don’t mind. Let's head back though, I’m done for the day…”
Cthoni slides into the back next to Momoa, crossing her arms. “We’re all set.” She glances at Jabber. “…I’m glad to see he’s not driving.”
Zanka feels a vein pop. “Yeah,” he growls, turning the car to start heading back to base, “Wish someone would have warned me about that.”
“You guys are so mean to me,” Jabber pouts, leaning his head out the window so his dreads flail wildly in the wind, “Whoo! Go a little faster!” Zanka does, but only because he wants to make good time.
“Hey,” Momoa says, peering around, “…you remember the way back to base?”
“Yeah,” Zanka says, shrugging a shoulder, “I’ve always been good at rememberin’ things, and it doesn’ seem like my head injury affected my capability t’remember, just took away what memories I did have.”
“How’d you know where that town was?” Jabber asks then, tilting his head, “Y’hadn’t been there since gettin’ hit.”
“Well, Hellguard trainin’ required us to memorize maps,” Zanka explains simply, “We had t’know the area, 'cause we could get dispatched t'anywhere at any point, so s’long as I get a glimpse of the land I can usually tell where I am on the ground…” he trails off and furrows his brows. “Wouldn’t’ya know this? Feel like it would be something I’d tell ya about…”
Jabber gives him one long, slow blink. “Yeah,” Momoa chimes in from the back, “Like Jabber would care about details like that.”
Zanka scowls. “Right,” he scoffs, "Forgot my darlin’ partner only cares about what gets him off.”
“I care about other things!” Jabber protests, “That one’s just the most important.”
“I’ll throw ya outta this damn car.”
Jabber shrugs and leans forward to turn on and crank up the radio. Zanka rolls his eyes and taps his choker. “Boss, we picked up Cthoni and Momoa. We’ll be back in about an hour.”
“Good. Well done, Zanka.”
An odd, inexplicable feeling of warmth curls in his stomach. He blinks, staring blankly at the road ahead.
He’d done… well? It wasn’t as though it was a difficult task. In fact, it was meant to be a simple check up. Picking his fellow raiders up afterwards was nothing impressive…
But Zodyl had said he’d done well. Zanka doesn’t remember the last time someone had said he’d done well, at anything.
His fingers tighten over the steering wheel, a small, contented smile settling on his cheeks. The Boss had complimented him. For doing a good job.
No wonder he had joined the Raider’s. These people are much more welcoming to him than the Hellguard ever was.
Notes:
Zanka: Hah! Jabber's such an ass that he only cares about fighting and not stuff I've talked about
The Raiders, sweating: Hahaha, yeah, hes soooo inconsiderate...
Anyway I hope you enjoyed! These first couple of chapters are really gonna revolve around Zanka healing and being integrated into the Raiders team, so look forward to more bonding and let me know what you think so far ^^ Btw this timeline is set somewhere between the fight inside the trash beast and the information broker arc in case anyone was wondering!
Jabber is somehow both excellent at maintaining the ruse of Zanka being a Raider and simultaneously the most likely to expose the truth. Also I didn't really use it in my last fic but I am 100% leaning more into the idea of Jabber being hopeless at directions. You could tell him to walk across the street and he'd somhow end up on a random roof at the outskirts of town. Zodyl's glad he grabbed Zanka at this point soley because it means he'll finally stop losing his feral subordinate.
Also really fiddling with the logic of Cthoni's jinki... hopefully cannon doesn't come back and hit me in the ass at some point during this fic...
Also,
Zanka: Gets happy Zodyl complimented him
Enjin, at the Cleaners HQ: I feel a disturbance
Chapter Text
Momoa watches curiously as Zanka slowly goes through some exercises with that stick of his. She watches him get used to it again in real time, the ease in which he swings it around, matching slow steps in time with his movements.
It's like watching a dance, she decides. Slow, calm, steady. Like a river flowing. Its graceful, controlled, a serene fluidity to each of his movements. A step, a swing, a twirl, a strike, a pivot.
He takes a deep breath in, then out, dragging his hand down the length of its staff. He bounces her off the ground a bit, feeling the force she exerts, then drags his foot around in a slow circle. His staff follows the same path, until he stands straight and taps the end against the ground. He lets out a quiet breath afterwards.
Momoa blinks, suddenly snapped from her revere. Oh, she hadn’t even noticed she’d zoned out watching him…
“Thanks,” Zanka says suddenly, turning to her, “Fer lettin’ me use yer room.”
Momoa hums softly, kicked back on an old, rugged couch. “It’s fine, you usually used it when you wanted to get away from Jabber, anyways.” It’d been a week or two since they got him, and he’d been kept occupied by Jabber for most of the time while healing. She can imagine wanting to get away from him after that.
Zanka chuckles softly, walking over to sit down next to her. “I can see why… s’a nice spot ya got here.”
Momoa sweeps her eyes over the room again. “Yeah…” It's at the very top floor of the abandoned building they call a base, with a large, half broken circular window in the roof. It’s quiet, and the height stops any of the toxic air from leaking in. “I only joined the Raiders after Zodyl became the boss, so I got a first pick of the rooms when he set up base to start executing his plan. Only those on the front line get to know its location.”
Zanka hums softly, leaning back. “...so where’s the others rooms?”
“Boss got himself a small room somewhere on the fifth floor,” Momoa lists off, “Bundus set up shop on the third, and Jabber’s completely overtaken the fourth.” She waves her hand around. “Norede used to have a room on the same floor as the boss, and Fu had a room on the same floor as you. Cthoni’s got hers right on the main floor.”
Zanka furrows his brows. “Why’s Jabber got the whole fourth?”
“He needed space for all his experiments,” Momoa explains, “If you ever want to visit, don’t touch anything. It’s just lucky the stairwell is intact enough we don’t have to walk through the floor.”
Zanka pulls a face. “Of course…” he closes his eyes, sighing, “Bastard’s been clingy since boss assigned him t’care f’me.”
“You two have always been like that,” Momoa says, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, “Ever since you joined. Jabber kinda… forced his way into your personal space, and eventually you accepted it. You’ll get used to it again soon, I'm sure.”
“Jabber said somethin’ similar,” Zanka hums softly, “But it’s still odd…” He stretches back, a soft yawn escaping him. “I see why we got along though… yer easy to be around, Momoa.”
Momoa glances at him, examines the ease in which he's sitting, the way her old jacket wraps so well around his form. “Yeah,” she agrees, closing her eyes, “You and I would go out on missions often, whenever I could steal you from Jabber.”
Zanka chuckles. “Posseisve bastard, ain’t he?”
“Mhm… stay as long as you want. I always did enjoy watching you train.”
It's interesting, seeing him as an ally. Zanka makes a small noise, absently examining every little detail of the room with tired eyes. Momoa finds herself dozing off, content with the simple knowledge of another's presence. He’s easy to get along with, and so trusting of what they say.
She wonders if it’s just the amnesia, or if his experience with the Hellguard has something to do with it.
Oh well. That’s for the boss to handle—she’ll just keep up the ruse and indulge in the quiet Zanka offers her. It’s a nice change of pace, all things considered. She could get used to this.
And right as she’s about to nod off, her door bursts open. They both startle, jolting up right.
“There you are!” Jabber chirps happily, “You’re not supposed to be doin’ any serious movements, remember? Bad Zanka!”
“I ain’t doin’ anythin’ strenuous!” Zanka protests, “Just simple movements! Plus, I’m almost completely healed!”
Jabber clicks his tongue, strolling over to haul Zanka’s ass off the couch. Momoa rubs her eye, a soft frown on her face. Damn, and she’d been so close to a good nap…
“Boss wanted to see ya, by the way. In the den,” Jabber tells her, “I’m puttin’ this one to bed.”
“Stop speakin’ like I’m a dog!” Zanka growls, yanking his arm from his hold. Jabber just yanks him by the waist instead. Momoa watches them scuffle the whole way out of her room.
It’s odd. Realistically, their personalities are incredibly different. Zanka was brought up in a wealthy family, trained in a militant environment that taught him discipline. From what she heard of Jabber, he grew up in a small town too close to a no-man’s land where he had to eat whatever he got his hands on to survive.
They’re total opposites. Yet they compliment each other in every way, work around each other like they’ve been acquainted for years. Zanka is already getting used to Jabber’s eccentricities, his touchiness and attention seeking behaviour.
Momoa makes her way to the den. It was their nickname for the Boss’s little ‘thinking’ area, a closed off room filled with junk and a couple TVs playing static. Generally it’s where he does the most thinking, and he often summons them there to discuss his plans.
She wonders what he wants from her this time.
Zodyl taps his fingers against his thigh, eyes closed as he ponders. Zanka is showing steady growth in both his relationship with Zodyl’s subordinates and his revitalization of his vital instrument. The boy is impatient in his desire to get back into fighting, eager to please and prove his worth.
This is looking to be more promising than Zodyl ever expected. Perhaps he should thank the Hellguard for breaking the boy's confidence–it’s certainly made it easier to indoctrinate him.
“Boss,” Momoa says behind him, “Y’needed me?”
“Sit,” Zodyl commands simply, gesturing to an old, boxy TV, “What do you think of Zanka so far?”
Momoa drops down on the TV, pulling her legs up in a criss-cross as she hums in thought. “He fits in well,” she says, “Surprisingly so. It’s difficult to see his memories without him noticing, but from what I’ve gathered, he didn’t have many friends in the Hellguard. I think that’s part of the reason he’s settled in so readily–he wants to be part of a team.”
Zodyl hums softly. “Not quite,” he says, closing his eyes, “It’s more like… he wants to be seen as useful, and the only way he can do that is by joining a team.” He opens his eyes again. “It’s the recognition he craves, not the company. That’s what makes it easy to manipulate him.”
Momoa nods along. “I see. What are we going to do, if he can’t live up to your expectations? He’ll get suspicious if you're lenient on him, and although he’s getting used to his jinki again, there’s no telling how long it’ll take before he can use it.”
“That’s what Jabber is for,” Zodyl says plainly, “If it’s true he’s settling in well, the rest is up to Jabber. He’s the one who sees whatever strength Zanka has been hiding while working for the Cleaners, so he’ll be the one to drag it out. Zanka will reawaken his instrument in no time, so we must bide our time until then.”
“Right,” Momoa agrees, chuckling a little, “Jabber does bring out the worst in people.” She straightens up. “I wanted to run an idea by you, boss.”
Zodyl gestures for her to continue.
“I’ve never tried my ability on someone with amnesia,” she says, “So I want to ask Zanka to use my jinki on him, under the guise of seeing if it will jog his memory. If I am able to see them, it does risk him regaining the memories. If not, I won’t be able to talk about his past anymore without him possibly finding it suspicious.”
Zodyl purses his lips. If Momoa is able to see his memories, they could earn vital insight into the Cleaners. Things about the boss, how they work, the members and their abilities… but if not, it puts a tighter lid on what Momoa can use to trick him with. Though, realistically, the likelihood of Zanka regaining his memories from her jinki are slim…
“Do it,” Zodyl decides, “It’s worth the risk. Give some information to the others after, small things that would make sense for Zanka to have told them about at some point.”
Momoa nods, reaching up to tap at her choker. “Zanka,” she says, “Can you hear me?”
“I’m here,” Zanka’s voice answers, “Whaddya—Jabber! Fuck off already!—Whaddya need?”
“Get Jabber to bring you to the den,” she says, “I want to try something that might help your memories.”
“Really? A’ight. Be right there, if this IDOIT would stop fuckin’ around!” Jabber's giggle follows Zanka’s statement before the chokers turn off.
Zodyl tilts his head. “The den?”
“This room,” Momoa explains plainly, “We call it the den. Because you sit here most days and plot.”
Zodyl hums. The den. What an odd thing to call a room. “Interesting.”
The doors open behind them a couple minutes later. Zanka walks into the room with Jabber in tow, slouched and very clearly bored. Momoa waves at them. “Wanna sit here?”
Zanka blinks, but doesn’t hesitate to sit at the base of the TV she’s perched on. “What’re we doin’, exactly?”
“Momoa’s jinki allows her to see the memories of those she touches,” Zodyl explains, “We’re going to see if she can find the memories you’ve forgotten, and if it may bring them back.”
“Oh,” Zanka says, glancing back at her, “Y’think it’ll work?”
“No idea,” Momoa says truthfully, placing her hands on his shoulders as her Asyl lights up, “Only one way to find out.”
Zanka closes his eyes. Jabber crouches across from him, watching curiously. Zodyl patiently waits as Momoa begins sifting through his memories.
She tilts her head a little, humming softly. “That’s odd.”
“Huh?” Zanka mumbles, “Why’s it odd?”
“Your memories blank out,” she explains, “I can see when you were training with the Hellguard… you speak to a woman with white hair, and then… it fizzles out. There are faint traces of memories, emotions and the like, then you wake up on the battlefield when we fought the Cleaners.”
She releases his shoulders. “...feel any different?”
Zanka opens his eyes, flexing his hands. He furrows his brows, eyes flicking over Jabber and Zodyl’s forms. Finally, he says, “Nah. Still nothin’.”
“Boo,” Jabber complains, rocking back on his heels, “You never told me about no woman. Was she y’girlfriend?"
“No,” Zanka snarls, lips turning up into a scowl, “Shaddup. I didn’ mention her fer good reason.” It's the harshest Zodyl’s heard him speak since he joined them. A sensitive topic, then.
“Sorry, sorry,” Jabber snickers, not at all sorry, “Didn’ ya wanna ask the boss somethin’?”
Zanka blinks, relaxing again. “Oh, right…” he stands up and pulls his staff from his back, spinning it around, “Could y’tell me what I used her like, before? How I fought with her, what she looked like, what she could do. Stuff like that.”
Jabber and Momoa share a glance behind Zanka’s back. Zodyl tilts his head slowly, thoughtful. He has no idea what Lovely assistaff was truly capable of, nor does he have her looks committed to memory due to how little they faced each other. Momoa could answer, but it may be weird when Zanka asked Zodyl directly. Jabber jumping in on his own would make sense, because he’s always speaking even when not spoken to, but he doesn’t care for the little details that Zanka is asking for.
“No,” Zodyl says simply, “I don’t think that would be wise.”
Zanka blinks. “Hah?”
“Vital instruments take form based on user experience,” Zodyl begins explaining, “They form based on your thoughts and opinions. If we were to tell you ours, it may result in her manifesting again in an incomplete form, or not manifesting at all. The safest thing to do is allow you to rediscover what made your vital instrument awaken yourself. I apologize we can’t help more, but this will be something you have to do on your own.”
Zanka sighs softly, running his hand over the wood of his handle. “...damn, good point.” He straps the staff to his back again, standing up straight. “Thanks anyway, boss. I was also wonderin’ when y’thought I’d be allowed back on missions…?”
Zodyl hums. “Perhaps a small one first,” he decides, “Something easy to ensure your injury is healed enough.” It’s a week earlier than what the doctor suggested, but Zodyl wants to see his capabilities on the field.
“I could handle somethin’ tougher,” Zanka protests softly.
“I believe you,” Zodyl says without doubt, “This is just to ensure your health.” He decides to test something. “You are an important member of my force, Zanka. I value your abilities and insight, so I want to ensure you’re at the top of your health.”
The reaction is immediate. Zanka’s entire face lights up, an easy grin stretching his lips. “‘Course, boss! Thanks.”
Jabber starts laughing. It snaps Zanka out of his excitement, and he turns to kick him in the side. Jabber just laughs harder. “I need you to steal something,” Zodyl says, ignoring their odd behaviour, “Weaponry. There’s a group attempting to unearth the Raider’s influence on the ground, and they’re leveraging the fact that they hold crates of guns and ammunition. You and Cthoni will sneak into the warehouse they’re holed up in and steal the boxes right out from under them.”
“We’ll needa car, the crates are ‘prolly too large for Cthoni’s jinki,” Zanka says quickly, furrowing his brows in thought, “Weaponry’s hard to come by outside of them wealthy enough to deal in ‘em, so security’ll be tight. Plus, considerin’ the importance of the weaponry t’their cause, it’ll be a hard grab… Do y’have an exact number of the crates or just an estimate?”
“Just an estimate,” Momoa pipes in then, “Based on the memories I got off some of their followers. At most we assume there’s four crates.”
“Four’s impressive,” Zanka hums, “Likely stolen…” he mumbles something, “Hellguard or the Architects…? No, definitely them Architects.” Then he looks at Jabber. “We on good terms with the Architects?”
Jabber blinks. “The who?”
“The… The Architects? They’re an underground group with a giver that can manufacture weapons. Have we… not had to deal with’m before?”
“We’ve never had issues with them,” Zodyl says, “They keep to themselves and we employ only givers, so guns were never a necessity."
Zanka nods. “Got it. The Hellguard shouldn’ be too involved, if they haven’t taken these guys out already. The Architects might want their weaponry back though, which could be a problem…” he chews his lip as he thinks. Zodyl observes him, mildly pleased.
Among his ranks, Cthoni is his greatest asset. Not only is her Jinki extremely useful, but her strength and dedication to his cause places her far above the rest in both mission success and authority. Jabber is only useful when he wants to be, powerful but troublesome, a wildcard Zodyl must maintain carefully. Bundus is new, shown to be useful but better equipped for combat then stealth or negotiation. Momoa’s vital instrument places her high on his front lines, but ultimately, it’s all she has to offer.
Zodyl watches in real time as Zanka formulates a plan based on scraps of information. He stitches the pieces together, creates multiple contingencies for the different scenarios they may face. He places Cthoni and himself on the board according to their strengths, thinks out the easiest way to transfer the crates from within the building to the car and the getaway plan that must follow afterwards to result in a success.
Zodyl smiles. Cthoni has long since claimed the top spot among the Raiders. Zanka, he decides, will quickly rise to match her. This experiment is turning out bountiful.
“We go at night, so we can take advantage of Cthoni’s instrument,” Zanka decides finally, “It should be dark‘nough to form manholes that fit the crates.” He taps his choker to connect to the girl in question. “Cthoni, Boss’s got an assignment for us. Meet in the garage.”
“Got it.”
Jabber bounces up, eager. “Can I come!?”
“No,” Zanka refuses, deadpan, “It’s a stealth mission. You’ll break down the front door swingin’.”
“But that’s so much easier,” Jabber complains.
“Stealing their weapons results in the loss of their followers,” Zodyl says calmly, “This will make it easy for them to tear themselves apart. If they lose the following, they lose the presence needed to contend with us.” He stands. “Once that’s done, you may take as many of the leftovers as you please.”
Jabber grins then. “Fine, I’ll be a good boy and wait~”
Zanka rolls his eyes. “We’ll be back before sunrise,” he promises, “I won’t fail ya.”
“I know you won’t,” Zodyl says, and he means it. Zanka smiles, pleased, and leaves the room.
“Momoa,” Zodyl says quietly, “Take Jabber and find Bundus. Do as we discussed. You may talk with Cthoni separately once she returns from this mission.”
Jabber throws his arm over Momoa’s shoulders. “Tell me alllll the embarrassing stuff.”
“I’ll tell you what he might have told you.”
“Ugh, no fun…”
Zodyl watches the door shut behind them.
Zanka’s addition to their forces not only gives them a leg up over the Cleaners, but also allows them the insight and expertise of the Hellguard. Zodyl will be sure to exploit that thoroughly for as long as Zanka remains in their grasp.
Zanka goes over the possible plans he’d concocted with Cthoni while he drives, taking his time as the sun sets. Although it’s usually dangerous to go out at night due to possibly getting crushed by trash, Zanka has faith he’ll be able to dodge anything on time. The trash storms usually come in droves anyways, so it shouldn’t be hard to miss.
“Alright,” Cthoni says, when he’s finished explaining, “What if there’s more crates than anticipated?”
“I got grip strength,” he says plainly, “We can put the front seat down ‘n I can cling to the roof while we drive. Nothin’ difficult.”
Cthoni chuckles softly. Zanka glances at her. “What?”
“Nothing. Jabber just has a habit of standing on the roof of the car when we drive, too.”
Zanka rolls his eyes. “At least I’d have a practical reason fer it…”
She hums softly. “Will you be alright with your injury?”
“M’fine,” Zanka promises in a grumble. He’s antsy, dammit. He can’t afford to not be out and doing missions, to sit and miss out on training. He’s no genius. He’s come to terms with that by now, realized how stupid he was to think he could be called one.
He’s just average. But dammit if he won’t be useful to the man who saw him and asked for his strength anyways. Zanka will ensure he meets Zodyl’s expectations, perhaps even be better than when he still had his memories, too.
“We’ll be quick,” he swears, “Get back t’base before the sunrise. Promise.”
Cthoni leans back and closes her eyes. “Alright.”
The warehouse is a two hour drive from base. It would be shorter if they drove through a small no man’s land, but Zanka’s not an idiot. They park a good distance from the building, behind a pile of rubble.
Zanka opens the trunk and flips all the seats down. Then he perches on the roof and peers at the building in the distance. It’s smaller than he was expecting.
“Well?” Cthoni says.
“Let’s do the roof plan,” Zanka decides, “We can assess through the windows after, then begin the extraction.”
Cthoni’s jinki lights up, and a manhole opens on the ground. She enters first, and Zanka slips in after her.
They land on the roof, quiet. Zanka crawls to the edge and peers down. There are guards standing on the outskirts of the building, but they’re not looking up. He leans forward a little more and peers through the windows.
More guards inside. Some are standing watch, others are sitting and slacking off. They’re armed with swords and blunt weapons. Good, so they’re keeping the crates under lock and key.
He spots a large office on the upper floor, tucked into the corner. Another sweep, and he figures that’s the most likely place to be keeping the crates.
He waves Cthoni over and silently points out the office. She nods in understanding and kneels on the roof to open another manhole.
Zanka goes in slowly, head first. He grips the edge to hang from the roof, quickly examining the room. Two men, the windows blocked off. Good.
Zanka drops down onto the back of one and swings his lovely assistaff to knock the other over the head. He quickly slams the butt end of her staff into the temple of the one below him afterwards.
Cthoni pokes her head through the manhole. Zanka turns the lights off to completely encase the room in darkness.
“Five crates,” Zanka whispers, “I’ll be hitchin’ a ride on the roof, I guess.” He grabs one of the crates and drags it over to the wall where Cthoni manages to open a manhole the size of the wall itself.
“I’ll send ‘em through,” Zanka says, “You pull’m out and into the car.”
Cthoni nods and steps through the manhole, crate in tow.
Zanka grabs the next one and pushes it through. Then the third, then the fourth. There’s a knock on the door as he’s pushing the fifth.
Zanka tenses. “Boss?” Someone calls, “We got some buyers here. They wanna see the goods before they put money on us kickin’ out the Raiders.”
Zanka steps through the Manhole and hurriedly shoves the last crate into the trunk. “Close it,” he demands, slamming the trunk shut, “Start the car.”
Cthoni doesn't argue, closing the manhole and heading to the front seat. Zanka hoists himself onto the roof of the car, crouching down and planting his feet while watching the guards in the distance. There’s nothing for a bit, and then some start running inside. Cthoni slams the door shut and starts up the engine.
Zanka knocks on the windshield, curling his hand beneath the lip above it. “Don’ worry about me.”
She slams on the gas and spins the wheel around. Zanka knows the cars loud enough they’ll be heard. He pulls his mask from the pack on his waist and fastens it to his face.
Cars roar to life behind them, already hot on their trail. Zanka peers behind them through the kicked up dust. Three cars, no, four. He looks forward again. They got a head start, but the heavy crates will weigh the car down. Not only that, but they could follow them all the way back to base…
Even if it would be easy to deal with them by bringing them to base, it’s not exactly efficient. Zanka taps on his choker. “Cthoni,” he says, “Roll down the back window.”
He slides closer to the edge and grips the window frame to pull his head into the car when the window goes down. He pops the latches on the closest crate and squints at the option inside. He smirks. Lucky him.
He pulls one of the rifles from the crate, propping it between the seat and door so he can grab the magazine and load the gun. Then he rolls himself back to the centre of the car and regrabs the lip of the windshield, kicking his leg up to rest the gun on while he presses the butt to his shoulder and peers through the scope.
He grits his teeth, taking a couple deep breaths. He can vaguely see the lights behind them through the dust disturbed by Cthoni’s speedy driving. He narrows his eyes, trying to focus. They hit a bump and he curses as he readjusts, before propping the gun up on his knee again and firing.
The first bullet misses. The second sinks into the tire of the front car, causing it to spin out and slam into another. Zanka grins. “Nice shot,” Cthoni’s voice carries from his choker.
“Eh,” Zanka murmurs, peering through the scope again, “Pretty average shot for the Hellguard… I was ranked second in my class.” First, until Hyo had joined, he thinks bitterly, and fires another shot. This one cracks into another tire. “And then there was one…”
“They’ll be able to follow our tracks even if we lose them,” Cthoni points out, “Killing them would be better, but our priority is the weapons. It would also be better if they don’t realize we’re Raiders.”
“We could definitely pin this on the Architects,” Zanka agrees, closing his eyes and leaning back, digging his heel into the roof as the bumpy road jolts the car up and down. The last of their pursuers have begun driving in erratic movements to avoid his bullets. He might be able to hit them, but he’s more likely to run out of ammo first.
He clicks his tongue. “Cthoni,” he says, “Do ya trust me, even if it’s a stupid idea?”
“You’ve never led me wrong before,” she says, “I doubt losing your memories will change that fact.”
“Glad to hear it,” he says, flipping around and pulling himself into a crouch, “Put up the windows and drive straight through the no man's land.”
Cthoni chuckles, twisting the wheel to redirect their path. “Yeah, that sounds like one of your usual stupid ideas.”
The no man’s land is small in length, acting like a border between regions. It’s why getting around it takes so long—if they were to cut right through, the two hour drive it would take to get back to base is shortened to an hour.
“Yeah,” he says, glancing behind him to see the last car slamming to an abrupt stop as they charge headfirst into the zone, “What’s a lil’ thrill though, amiright?”
It’ll take them fifteen minutes to pass through the zone. Zanka keeps his grip strong and closes his eyes, letting the rushing wind whip through his hair.
What’s a little thrill, when it makes him feel so damn good?
“Welcome back!” Jabber cheers, throwing his arms in the air, “And in one piece, too!”
Zanka rolls his eyes, sliding off the roof of the car and rolling his wrists out. Jabber peers at him curiously, then whispers to Cthoni when he goes to unload the crates, “Was he on the roof that whole time?”
“Yup,” she says, “Helluva grip strength he has.”
Jabber bites his lip, a little excited. He wonders if Zanka could break his bones with grip strength alone. He also wonders if they’re at the point where he can ask, and Zanka will deliver.
Zodyl comes into the garage as Zanka pulls out the last of the crates. Jabber is rummaging through one of them, curiously poking at the guns. He wonders if they’re any fun to use.
“Well done,” Zodyl says, and Zanka positively beams.
“Does this mean I can start on missions again?” He asks, crossing his arms.
“Very well,” Zodyl agrees, “If you’re sure you’re in good enough health.”
Zanka nods. “I am.” Then he glances behind him. “D’ya need me to help with these, or d’ya mind if I go start some trainin’?”
Zodyl gestures behind him. “Feel free to do as you please. We’ll send a message out to the Architects, and return the weapons to earn a favour from them.”
Zanka nods in understanding and strolls off. Jabber is quick to follow after him, bumping their shoulders. “I’ll train with ya, yeah?”
“Hah?” Zanka complains, sneering at him, “Yer so damn needy.”
“Be a little meaner, Zan-Zan, it always gets me goin’~”
“Shaddup! I’ll beat yer face in, hear me?!”
Jabber giggles. “Okay~ I can’t wait.”
He’s been waiting so patiently, after all. Playing along and helping Zanka find who he really is, who the Cleaners never let him be. It’s only fair that Jabber gets some compensation for all his hard work!
A good beating at the hands of Zanka with that lovely stick of his sounds like just the right treat.
Notes:
Hopefully this isn’t too fast but I want to skip over the boring healing parts and focus more on the Zanka interaction parts
These first couple of chapters came out quicker then I anticipated lol, we’ll see if this writing streak keeps up or not
Also continuing to push my Zanka Can Use A Gun propaganda. Won’t be as prominent as it was in tassels but I thought the car chase scene was a good opportunity to throw it in there ^^ also there's no way this man doesn't have the grip strength to crush a mans skull. Zanka handles a heavy, metal staff like weapon that requires precise control and insane grip to be able to swing and hit things with. I don't think I'm the only one to point this out but I fully believe he'd be able to cling to the car as he did.
Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think so far <3
Chapter Text
Enjin is bad at feeling sympathy.
It’s something he’s always known about himself. When he sees strangers and meets random people on the street, he cares little for what they’ve experienced. He looks first at what they have to offer, and how it may benefit him. Once he understands that, then he decides whether or not to form a relationship, and what feelings he may begin experiencing come naturally after that.
However, if he does not form a relationship with them, he cares little for them. He doesn’t know them. He’ll likely never meet them again, so what’s the point in getting upset over someone who means nothing to him?
Rudo is better than him in that way. Perhaps it’s a result of growing up on the ground, in a place where sympathy and pity could mean death, but Enjin finds it hard to care like Rudo can. The sphere had been harsh, from what Rudo told them, but the boy always felt for the people he met regardless of if they would meet again.
Though, maybe it’s not the sphere, but the man who raised Rudo instead. Enjin takes a deep drag of his cigarette, then lets it out in a slow huff. Umbreaker sits over his lap, grounding him. He wishes he could meet Regto, if only to ask to be taught the same way he taught Rudo.
Because Enjin has always been bad at sympathy. He knows that. Part of him hates it, the empty feeling in his chest when others express their sorrow. Hates how he looks at himself, before others. Just like now.
The Cleaners HQ has a quiet blanket of gloom cast over it. Zanka’s abduction has caused a ripple of stress for everyone involved, and Enjin should be consoling his team and making plans to get him back. Instead, he’s sitting in the empty lounge and smoking a cigarette.
He’s selfishly putting aside his duties as team leader to give himself a break, to wallow in his own disappointment. Because Zanka was someone he cared for, someone Enjin took under his wing and slowly grew fond of as he watched him flourish into the strong, reliable person he is today. He may lack sympathy, but he does not lack his emotions completely. Sometimes, Enjin wishes he did.
He sighs softly, running his hand over Umbreaker’s fabric. He should be comforting Rudo, letting him know they’ll get Zanka back. The kid’s already so stressed about Amo, and now Zanka is gone too. He should also be trying to console Riyo, promise her that Zanka will be fine, that she doesn’t need to worry about losing those important to her all over again.
He purses his lips, running a hand through his hair. He can usually say a couple words to ease the tension, something like, ‘Everything's gonna be fine! We Cleaners can hold our own, we’ll get Zanka back in no time!’...
It sounds like a lie even in his head.
He rubs his eye, smudging out his cigarette butt on the ashtray. He needs to figure something out soon. A convincing lie, at least. Or… or maybe the truth. Dammit, without being able to tell how they might feel, he’s got no idea how he should approach this…
Before he can contemplate further, the door to the lounge creaks open. Riyo steps inside, bags under her eyes, with Rudo trailing behind her.
Enjin tries to smile, but it's crooked. Because he may be bad at sympathy, but he does care. These kids are under his protection. He took them in, carved out a place for them they could call home, and now one of them has been taken from that home.
Stolen from them, plucked up and fooled into thinking he was safe. Taken advantage of in his vulnerable state. Enjin’s hand curls into a fist over Umbreaker. He never should have hesitated.
“Hey,” Riyo says, standing across from him, “…will you hear me out now?”
Immediately, he levels her with a flat look. Rudo glances between them, confused.
“No,” Enjin says plainly, “That’s not an option.” He will not let her regress into that child he found, soaked in blood with the gaze of a corpse. He gave her the opportunity to find a new life here at the Cleaners, on the basis she follows that one rule. She’s improved because of it, even if she still always considers killing an option.
“What are we gonna do then?” Rudo asks quietly.
Enjin looks at him. Meets that intense, ruby gaze of his. He hums softly, closing his eyes and tilting his head.
Finally, he says, “I’m not sure.”
It’s definitely not what either of them wanted to hear. But Enjin continues before they can speak up. “We have no idea where the Raiders are, or what their plan is. As of right now, the Hellguard have agreed to share their resources on the Raider’s locations. They’re attempting to pinpoint where the Raiders have set up base using the information they’ve gathered on their movements so far, kinda like how they knew they’d be on that road we ambushed them on.”
He places a hand on each of their shoulders, leaning forward a bit. “Until we can find where the Raiders are, there’s not much we can do. Chasing after a ghost of a lead can only tire us out. We need to train, make plans, and get ready for when we can get Zanka back. That’s the only way we’ll ever have a chance.”
“But…” Rudo says, hands curling into fists, “What if they’re hurting him?”
Riyo’s eyes flash dangerously. “Now now,” Enjin says quickly, trying to calm them down, “Zanka is strong. There’s no way he’d let them hurt him without causing some damage himself.”
“How are we supposed to just sit around…!?” Rudo growls.
“What do you suggest we do then?”
Rudo blinks. Riyo sits down on the couch, huffing softly and crossing her arms. Enjin focuses on Rudo, trying to make him see his logic. “What do you suggest we do, to find Zanka?” he repeats, “If you have any ideas, then tell me.”
Rudo looks away. Enjin sighs softly, gently grabbing his hand to pull him onto the couch beside him. “I know it’s hard,” he says quietly, “I don’t like sitting around doing nothing either. But right now, that’s all we can do. Wasting our time chasing dead ends will tip off the Raiders we’re searching for them, and they could move base before the Hellguard can pin them down. It’s a hard pill to swallow, but it’s one we gotta.”
“...I don’t like it,” Rudo says bluntly.
Enjin laughs despite himself. “No one does,” he comforts, patting him on the back, “But hey, instead of sitting all anxious, let’s up your training, okay? Riyo and I will help you out, so when we do need to get Zanka back, you’ll be ready.”
Rudo nods slowly. “Besides,” he comforts, grinning a little more sincerely, “You gotta remember this is Zanka we’re talking about! He’s one of the sturdiest guys we got around, and he’d smack you over the head if he heard you doubting his strength. We just have to trust that Zanka can handle himself until we find him.”
Rudo’s shoulders slump, and he finally nods in agreement. “Yeah… okay.”
Enjin leans back and lights another cigarette, taking a deep drag. That went over better than expected. Though… it hasn’t lightened the mood any. Enjin doesn’t think anything will, for a while.
He sighs softly. He truly does hope Zanka can hold his own while at the Raider’s. Enjin has no idea what they have planned for him, how they’re treating him, or what Zanka even feels without his memories. Whatever it is that’s happening to him, it can’t be good. Enjin just hopes Zanka will survive long enough for them to save him.
He can’t even imagine what he must be going through right now.
Zanka throws a red three on the deck, smug. “UNO.”
Jabber plucks a card from his hand and slaps it on the pile. “Pick up four. Oh and UNO!”
“MotherFUCKER you’re cheating!”
“Being a sore loser doesn’t suit you, Zan~ka~”
“Bitch!”
Jabber laughs hysterically, falling on his back and kicking his feet up in the air. Zanka begrudgingly picks up his four cards. “What colour?” he growls.
Jabber makes a show of thinking, tapping his chin and tilting his head this way and that. Then he says, “Blue! Just like you~”
Zanka’s eye twitches. “...that’s the only damn colour I ain’t holdin’.”
“What a shame!” Jabber says cheerily, and plops his final card on the pile. It’s another pick up four.
“What the FUCK!?”
The door bursts open. Momoa rushes inside, and Zanka grabs Lovely Assistaff to lunge and pin the man chasing after her down. Jabber lands on the man behind that one, Mankira sinking into his sides.
“So,” Momoa says, huffing, “Who won?”
“I did!” Jabber says cheerily.
“Oh, shut up,” Zanka grouches, “Y’cheated.”
Momoa crouches down and presses her finger to the head of the man pinned between assistaff’s prongs. “I hate being the decoy,” she sighs, “Running sucks…”
“Yer hella fast though,” Zanka says, “Makes this easier than if Jabber got his hands on ‘em.”
Jabber sinks his Mankira deeper into the man's sides, peering at him curiously. “How’s it feel, man? I got a new poison recently.”
“Oi, don’ kill him ‘fore Momoa sees his memories.”
She quickly moves on before Jabber can actually kill the guy. Zanka spots the man he's pinning down twitch, so he spins his assistaff around and slams the butt of her staff into his skull. His head knocks into the cement and he groans loudly. A strange sense of satisfaction curls through him.
“Okay,” Momoa says, “Got it. I’ll call the boss and see what he wants us to do. You guys can deal with these two.” She gets up and dusts herself off as she leaves the room again.
Jabber tears his claws out of the man's side, pouting a little. “These guys are no fun at all…” he glances back, and smiles, “Ooh, mean streak comin’ back, Zan-Zan?”
“Hah?” Zanka mumbles, watching the blood that seeps from the man's head, “I ain’t got a mean streak.”
“Yeah you do,” Jabber says confidently, “C’mon… Y’like hurtin’ him, right?”
Zanka tightens his grip on his staff. That’s… that can’t be what he’s feeling. He’s just glad to get the guys that were trying to sell off information about the boss to the Hellguard. That’s all it is. “Zanka,” Jabber sings, sliding up behind him and squeezing his shoulders, “Come on, man. You no Hellguard hound anymore, remember?” He peers down at the guy, smirking, “Hit him again.”
For some reason, Zanka listens to him. He stomps his foot into the mans side, digging his heel into soft flesh. The agonized cry he lets out makes Zanka’s heart skip a beat.
Shame crawls up his neck, but Jabber is quick to tut softly, pulling him back and kicking the guy onto his back. “You’re free now, Zan-Zan. Raiders never judged ya for bein’ you… we accepted you just the way y’are.”
Zanka blinks slowly. There’s a certain… pleasure, that comes with hurting him. With seeing the fear in his eyes. It makes Zanka feel strong, stronger than he ever had been while at the academy. “I was like this?” he breathes out softly, “...I’m a freak.”
“Sure,” Jabber snorts, “But bein’ normal is pretty boring.” He grabs his arm and pulls him down over the man, sliding his hands over Zanka’s to guide his grip around the man’s throat. “It makes y’feel good, right?” he whispers into his ear, “Don’t hide, Zan-Zan. Show me that brutality… show me all that meanness y’had before.”
Zanka takes a deep breath. His grip tightens, hesitant at first. But the man’s eyes flash with fear, clouded from the concussion Zanka no doubt gave him, and it sends a certain thrill up his spine.
He tenses, and squeezes with all his might. The body beneath his convulses in a panic, hands coming up to desperately claw at his grip. Zanka doesn’t budge, nails digging into the skin. Jabber’s giggles ring in his ears, turning louder as a crooked, manic smile slowly spreads over Zanka’s cheeks.
He feels powerful. Here this peasant is, begging for his mercy with his terror filled eyes. The fate of his life is in Zanka’s hands, and all he’s capable of doing is squirming and making aborted choked noises. Zanka presses his thumbs into the man's jugular, and giggles as his eyes roll back and saliva foams at the corner of his mouth.
“Stop hiding, Zan-Zan,” Jabber practically purrs in his ear, “Doesn’t it feel good, to be who you really are?”
Zanka feels breathless. The man lets out another couple of jerky movements beneath him, before he slumps completely.
Zanka gasps softly, grip loosening. He feels a tad light headed. “Hey, hey,” Jabber says, nudging his chin on his shoulder, “You’ll choke me like that, right Zanka? Y’always so rough with me in sparrin’, but you been holdin’ back on me cause of your memories.”
“Freak,” Zanka bites, grabbing his Lovely Assistaff and standing, shaking Jabber’s hold off. His hands tremble with the adrenaline of killing a man with his bare hands. It’s an exhilarating feeling, “Yeah, I won’t hold back on ya. Y’don’ deserve it.”
Jabber bounces up with an excited noise, his Mankira already threatening to nip at him. “Ah, let's hurry up then, okay? So we can fight sooner, okay?”
Zanka runs his hand over the handle of his staff. He feels like he's thrumming with energy, a strange contentness settling over him. He traces the ridges of her wood all the way up to her prongs. “Yeah,” he says quietly, at ease, “...let’s fight soon.”
Momoa pokes her head back into the room. “Hey, boss said to just head out and kill the remaining guys off. There’s only three others, and they were all supposed to meet up about thirty minutes from here.”
“Thirty minutes?” Zanka says, appalled, “Damn, rookie mistake. Let’s filae these traitors.”
Momoa blinks. “There’s the Zan-Zan I know!” Jabber cheers happily, swinging his arm around his shoulder, “Ah, you slowly comin’ back to yourself. Don’t’chya think, Momoa?”
“Mh,” Momoa agrees, holding the door open for them as they make their way out of the old abandoned warehouse, “Sounding more and more like the Zanka from before.”
Zanka smiles a little, running a hand through his hair. “...good t’know I’m back to normal. Even if it still feels a lil’ weird.”
“That comes with amnesia,” Momoa reminds, handing him the keys, “I don’t feel like driving.”
“Yeah, I got it. Jabber, I won’t stop if y’fall off the roof.”
“So mean~ I’ll be good and sit inside, promise.”
Jabber practically vibrates with excitement as they step foot into the base, having easily taken care of those boring little traitors. He skips his way to the empty, ripped up floor they use as a sparring ground, dragging Zanka behind him.
“Yer so damn needy!” He complains, but all Jabber can think about is how ruthlessly he’d choked that man out.
God, he's getting hard thinking about it. He wants Zanka to choke him out like that, to squeeze the life out of him and smile like he had before. He wants Zanka to tear him apart and enjoy every second of it.
“C’mon,” Jabber urges, jumping back from him and bouncing from foot to foot, “Come on, come on! Let’s go already, man!”
Zanka spins that lovely stick of his around and scoffs. “Shut up already… should cut out that damn tongue of yers to make y’stop yappin’.”
Jabber lunges forwards with Mankira at the ready. “Please do,” he begs gleefully, “Pin me down an’ tear my tongue out if ya want, Zan-Zan!”
Zanka twirls around him, sneering. “Freak!”
Jabber is quick to pursue, slashing wildly as he eagerly waits for how Zanka will hurt him. Zanka blocks his swings and aims to bash him in the side. Jabber ducks low and swipes at his ankles. Zanka slams his staff into the ground and uses it to boost himself up, then swing around and kick him directly in the face.
The air crackles with tension between them as Jabber’s eyes roll back. He lets himself tumble back onto the concrete floor, debris scratching up his back and side as he rolls. Then he jumps up and charges back into hitting range.
Zanka gets stuck on the defensive, but there’s a calculating look in his eye that gets Jabber excited. His staff is smaller without him being able to activate it, but he wields her just as impressively as before. Jabber pushes him and pushes him, waiting, praying Zanka will hurt him just the way he wants.
Zanka ducks low when Jabber aims for his face, and slams the prongs against the floor with one hand so they bounce back up and smack Jabber in the face. He yelps, and Zanka uses his other hand to punch him, hard. Jabber hear’s his nose crack as he’s sent stumbling back.
Zanka follows ruthlessly, refusing to give him an opening. “You so good to me, Zanka!” Jabber practically moans, swiping his assistaff away and getting kneed in the gut instead. Zanka scoffs at him, but the pride in his eyes as he slowly gains the upper hand is undeniable.
“Come on,” Jabber goads, on the brink, “More, more, you can do it Zanka. Tear me apart.”
Jabber sees a brilliant flash of blue. It’s that pretty colour, the brightest shade of poisonous flowers, pulsing in Zanka’s eyes as it travels through his hands and over the wood of his jinki.
The prongs slam into his side, metal and larger than before. The spikes tear into him, ripping through his skin and bringing him oh so much pleasure before he’s sent sailing into the wall.
Jabber groans, head pleasantly fuzzy. He falls forward, staggering, and grins as he peers up through his dreads.
Zanka takes a deep breath, running his fingers delicately over the metal handle of his jinki, holding her close. His eyes are impossibly soft as he examines her, gives her a small spin before running his hand up to her prongs, caressing the sharp spikes as her entire being pulses with her resurgence.
“Baby,” Zanka hums, voice more erotic than Jabber thinks it deserves to be when not aimed at him, “To think I was missin’ out on ya…”
Jabber’s Mankira pulses. Bursts to life in her larger form, eager for a good fight. “I missed her too,” Jabber says, “Missed that lovely thing so damn much.”
Zanka curls her around his back, drops his legs and lets her rest over his shoulders. “Damn, those things can grow?” he says, “Y’can never play fair, huh?”
“Don’t be shy now, Zanka!” Jabber protests, “You can handle it, can’t you?” He remembers the way Zanka bit Mankira’s blades to avoid his jaw being torn open. Jabber wants to see him do it again, wants to see him drop that trained fighting from the Hellguard and let loose.
“Come and find out,” Zanka sneers, and Jabber would be a fool to refuse such an enticing invitation.
“That was good,” Jabber hums, laying on his back. Zanka is paralyzed next to him, angered little growls leaving him as he attempts to move his arms, “That poisons gonna last thirty minutes, Zan-Zan. Don’t bother.”
Zanka groans. He lasted longer than he did in the trash beast, but Jabber maybe got a bit ahead of himself. He’s not usually so patient, never sticking around if his new toys can’t entertain him when he wants them too, but Zanka is so interesting.
He improves each time they fight, always bringing something new to the table. And the way he grins whenever he manages to injure him, or gain the upper hand. Jabber’s never met someone like Zanka before.
He realizes, belatedly, he’s never met someone so alike to him before. Maybe that’s why he continues to pursue Zanka despite his continued failure to give Jabber the true, one sided beat down he craves. Because Zanka enjoys hurting others, takes a sick sense of pleasure in being strong enough to cause another pain, much like how Jabber finds pleasure in being hurt beyond repair.
He turns his head, peering at Zanka’s side profile. His face is twisted up in a harsh scowl. He’s so expressive, Jabber has noticed. He struggles to hide how he’s really feeling, especially when he’s so worked up—that’s another thing Jabber is drawn too. How little he hides his true feelings, in a world of deceit and lies.
There’s something else there too. Something Jabber wants to snuff out immediately. “Oi, don’ be lookin’ so sad, man.”
Zanka’s eyes snap to him, annoyed. “I ain’t… I ain’t sad.”
Jabber rolls his eyes, sitting up and leaning over his prone form. “Y’always had trouble,” he says, recalling what Momoa had told him of Zanka’s academy days, “Of not bein’ the strongest. Sometime’s still gets the better of ya, even now.”
Zanka grits his teeth. “Shut up.”
“Yer the only one who cares about that,” Jabber says plainly, ignoring him, “Always stressin’ about how weak y’are… you a strong guy, Zanka. Y’just focus too much on all the shit y’can’t do to notice the stuff y’can.”
Zanka glares up at him, but it falters. “Yeah, well,” he rasps, “You wouldn’t get it.”
“Probably not,” Jabber admits, but his curiosity bubbles up, “Y’never tried explaining it to me before though, either.”
Zanka huffs. Jabber waits, absently digging his fingers into a cut on his thigh.
“I ain’t no genius,” Zanka says quietly, “...I work hard for the shit I do. Even in the academy, all I ever did was work hard. It wasn’ easy for me, t’get where I’m at now.” He peers up at him. “You prob’ly barely have to think about how y’fight, huh?”
“I dunno,” Jabber hums, “Guess not. I don’ really care if I’m a good fighter or not. It’s just more fun, when there’s a challenge.”
Zanka rolls his eyes. “I ain’t able t’afford to think like that,” he grumbles, trembling hand curling into a fist at his side. Jabber perks up. He shouldn’t be moving at all for another ten minutes at least–the effect will wear off slowly, after all. “I gotta be better,” he says quietly, “Else I’m no use. No point in keepin’ me around if I ain’t strong.”
Jabber clicks his tongue. “I always hated those thoughts of yours,” he sighs, tapping his cheek gently, “Makes ya spiral. Boss doesn’ just want your strength, you smart too. But, I like that you got that drive, Zan-Zan. I like that ya wanna fight and grow and get strong. Just wish you’d stop doubtin y’self. Every time y’do that, you stop lettin’ y'self get stronger.”
“That’s stupid,” Zanka grumbles, “...It’s not like I can help it, either. Thought’s just kinda… swarm in. I don’ want them around either.”
Jabber hums, tilting his head slowly. Then he smiles, and summons the claws of his left hand. “Wanna try something?” he asks happily, “Somethin’ new I’ve been concocting. Might make ya feel better.”
Zanka peers at his claws, unsure. Then he sighs softly, and closes his eyes. “Go fer it,” he mumbles, “...if it makes my damn thoughts shut up.”
Jabber shallowly stabs the side of his neck. Zanka winces softly, then blinks rapidly. Jabber watches his pupils slowly blow wider, and giggles. He shimmies his thighs under his head so he can gently pet his hair while Zanka slowly clocks out on his lap. “Neat, right?” Jabber coos, “My left claws’ better at takin’ in toxins with numbing, internal affects. This is a kinda mix I been experimenting with, usin’ the numbin’ agent I originally had with this chemical off a plant I found. Slows the stuff in y’brain that sends signals elsewhere.”
He pushes Zanka’s bangs back, feeling his full weight settle against him as his eyes flick to Jabber’s movements slowly. “Y’clock out,” Jabber snorts, “Stay conscious but wont feel anything. Calms y’right down, huh?”
Zanka lets out a low, quiet hum. Jabber chuckles a little. “Don’t worry,” he promises, “Y’can use this anytime those thoughts of yours get too loud, huh? Can’t have my darlin’ partner spirlin’ inta himself…”
Zanka’s lashes flutter. Jabber doubts he can even understand him. Zanka is so receptive to him now–maybe Jabber will see if he’s willing to try out some of his other toxins, another time.
He feels excited. For the first time in a while, Jabber looks forward to what Zanka has to offer him next. He’ll do his part in ensuring he’s able to deliver, even if it means drugging him to high hell.
What’s a little intoxication, after all, when Zanka is so ready to receive it?
Notes:
Cleaner POV!!! Kind of experimenting with Enjin's character because I haven't gotten the chance to write with him yet. Let me know what you think, and if he seems out of character.
The world of Gachiakuta is like, set a long time after our world, or at least a world similar to ours. So I fully believe that the hatred, rage and betrayal that comes with playing a game like UNO has caused that card game to live through the apocalypse. Jabber was never cheating btw he's just got stupidly good luck when it comes to cards XD
Lot's of manipulation happening in this chapter LOL Zanka can never catch a break. Jabber is yanking out all the deepest parts of himself that Zanka hated when he had his memories still and is firmly planting those pieces at the front of his person. This will have repercussions.
Lovely Assistaff has also reawakened once again!!! (⁀ᗢ⁀) I contemplated having it done through Zanka's POV but decided it would be better for the fight and feel of it to see Zanka activate her from Jabber's perspective. You'll get some insight into Zanka's thoughts next chapter though, so look forward to that!
Anyways I hope you all enjoyed! <3
Chapter Text
Zanka runs his fingers over her cool metal, enjoying the contrast between his warm hands. Lovely assistaff thrums with a soft kind of energy that reverberates through his entire being.
She’s beautiful.
He traces a line up the length of her staff, over the ridges at the base of her prongs, then through the glowing marks on the prongs themselves. Then he drags his hand downwards, over the pointed spikes and large, sharp blades on her sides.
He sighs softly, content. Then he picks up a cloth and continues to wipe her down, carefully scrubbing so she shines. “Thanks,” he murmurs softly, “Fer lettin’ me use y’stuff.”
Bundus waves him off, tinkering away at one of his prosthetic arms. “Nonsense, I know with everything that’s happened, you’ve been unable to restock on your cleaning materials.”
Zanka nods, allowing Lovely assistaff to detransform so he can begin maintenance on her wood form. He sets out the polish and removes some of the bandages to be replaced with fresh ones. Then he gives her a quick wipe down first before beginning to apply the polish.
She feels so good in his hands. Like she was always meant to be wielded by him, a weapon as ordinary as him. Zanka hums happily to himself, taking great care to ensure she’s in peak condition. He thinks he’ll train with her for a bit, rediscover all the ways she let him utilize her.
“Hey Bundus,” he says, a sudden thought occurring, “Yer new here, ain't’chya?"
“I am,” Bundus confirms, scratching the back of his neck, “It’s a bit odd, being the oldest here but the rookie of the group.” He lets out a hearty laugh. “You all are impressive folks though! So I don’t mind it.”
Zanka hums, methodically polishing every inch of Lovely assistaff. “We get along well, before?”
Bundus nods, smiling a little. “To be honest, I was grateful you were here when I joined. The Raiders are… interesting people. But out of all of them, you were the easiest to get along with. Even if you’re much younger, I always looked at you as a sort of mentor.” He scratches his chin sheepishly. “Maybe it’s a bit odd to say, but I admired your dedication and ability to complete missions.”
Something akin to pride curls through Zanka’s chest as he pauses, surprised at the declaration. “Ah,” he says, glancing up, “...Thanks. That’s… good to hear.” His lips quirk up into a smidgen of a smile. “Getting used to being here again is takin’ a while, but… I dunno, the more I do the easier it is.” He places Lovely assistaff down, leaning back and letting the polish set. A scowl settles on his face quickly though. “Jabber is still takin’ a minute to get used to.”
Bundus laughs again. “Even I’m still not quite used to him. Never before have I met a man such as that.”
Zanka shakes his head. He ponders to himself afterwards, thinking back to the calm that had washed over him after Jabber used his toxins on him. It was… peaceful, the way his mind stopped. All his thoughts went quiet, the inner turmoil he’d become accustomed to with every failure he faced turning into nothing more than a faint memory.
It was nice.
Jabber was, in a weird way, nice. Zanka scowls immediately upon having the thought, because ‘nice’ and ‘Jabber’ should never be used in the same sentence. But all Jabber has done since bringing him back to base is dote on him, help him train and block out his insecurities, even show Zanka just how free he used to be–how free he’s able to be, again.
Zanka groans, rubbing his face. “I hate sittin’ still…” His thoughts always wander like this when he doesn’t have an objective. It’s annoying.
“Here,” Bundus offers, handing over a sheet of paper and a box of parts, “Wanna put this piece together for me? Just some attach and twist kinda parts, which I’ll put in the joint of this prosthetic.”
Zanka takes the items with an appreciative hum and dumps the box out, sorting the parts into piles to find everything easier. Then he smooths out the sheet of paper and skims over the words.
Pauses. Reads them over again. Hovers his hand over some parts, then another, and furrows his brow in confusion.
He brings the paper closer to squint at the words. Glances back to the parts again.
…he feels a great, sudden sense of dread wash over him.
Oh no.
“YOU CAN’T FUCKING READ!?” Jabber shrieks in delight, and immediately dissolves into peels of laughter.
“No!” Zanka denies vehemently, “That’s–That ain’t true!”
Zodyl rubs his chin thoughtfully, tilting his head. “It’s likely a side effect of your head injury. Jabber, take him to the doctor again. Ensure this isn’t a sign of regression.”
“Y’can’t read!” Jabber wheezes, “Rich school boy Zan-Zan is illiterate!”
“I’ll really kill ya, bastard!”
“It’s not that you can’t read,” the doctor explains, after Jabber managed to drag them both to the town's hospital without Zanka murdering him, “It’s just that your mind is struggling to comprehend the meaning. It’s like being told someone’s name and then immediately forgetting it when you focus on something else.”
Zanka slumps a little “So it's… normal?”
The doctor nods. “It’s a common side effect of amnesia, yes. You’ll have to practice reading slowly to try and regain your original comprehension skills, but you can’t overdo it.”
Jabber is still giggling, sifting through random, old pamphlets the doctor has. “Hey,” he snickers, holding one up, “What’s this say, Zan-Zan?”
Zanka punches him in the stomach, hard. Jabber doubles over and stumbles back with a surprised yelp, then continues laughing.
“Thanks, doc,” Zanka murmurs, ears red. He gets up and snatches up Jabber's hood to bodily drag him out. Jabber throws a bag of coins on the counter even as he continues howling in laughter.
“I’ll rip yer fuckin’ teeth out,” Zanka bites, throwing him in the truck. Jabber wiggles around in the back seat like a useless worm. Zanka wants to crush him like one.
He starts up the engine with a simmering feeling of anger and embarrassment. Jabber’s continued, muted giggles from the backseat don’t help.
He leans forward suddenly, grinning lazily. “I’ll read anything ya need me to, my darlin’ partner.”
“I will throw you out of this car.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Zanka cranks up the radio to drown out his voice. It makes the trip back to base mildly more tolerable.
Bundus didn’t mean to cause such chaos. He had only been attempting to distract Zanka from his wandering thoughts, not send him into a state of hysteria.
“It’s a little funny,” Momoa says, “Or, ironic, I guess.”
“Not you too!” Zanka complains, annoyed, “This ain’t funny!”
“It’s really fucking funny,” Jabber says, handing him an instruction manual. Bundus is pretty sure it’s one he created for his prosthetics, but he’s long since given up trying to make Jabber stop going through his things.
Zanka snatches the manual from him and squints at the words. It’s silent. Then he smacks Jabber over the head with it, causing him to burst out into another fit of laughter.
Zanka turns to Zodyl. “I’m gonna kill him.”
Zodyl chews absently on something that Bundus would rather not know what it is. “He’s still useful,” Zodyl says, “Don’t kill him.”
Zanka throws his hands in the air, fed up. “It’s not a big deal,” Bundus tries to say, raising his hands placatingly, “You’re healing from a serious injury, Zanka. There’s no shame in that.”
Zanka scoffs, crossing his arms and grumbling in annoyance. Jabber continues sifting through the pile of things he brought to ask Zanka to read off of. His dedication to pissing Zanka off is impressive.
He lifts a small paper up. “Hey—“ Zanka punches him in the face. They topple over each other and begin to scrabble on the ground.
Momoa watches them in amusement. Cthoni, having just popped in through a manhole, deadpans. “I was gone for five minutes,” she murmurs, “What happened this time?”
Bundus watches Zanka smack Jabber’s chin with the heel of his palm to knock his head into the ground. Jabber stabs his hand into Zanka’s side in retaliation. They roll over and bump into a pile of trash that falls on the floor with a dull thud.
“Jabber won’t stop asking Zanka to read things,” Momoa explains.
Zodyl rests his chin on his hand, tilting his head a little. “They’re strange. It’s fascinating.”
They look like toddlers in a scrap, Bundus thinks to himself. He really wonders sometimes how he came to the conclusion that joining a group full of people two times younger than him was a good idea. Just the sight of Zanka being slammed into the ground makes his lower back ache with phantom pains.
Zanka kicks Jabber in the abdomen and sends him flying into another trash pile. Jabber just slumps back and laughs.
“Are you two done?” Cthoni asks.
“He started it,” Zanka murmurs, the spitting image of a petulant child being scolded by his mother. Bundus immediately banishes the thought in fear Cthoni will somehow gain telepathy and murder him on the spot for such a comparison.
Cthoni shakes her head, quickly kicking all of Jabber’s papers through a manhole so he can’t anger Zanka anymore.
“Whatever,” Zanka scoffs, standing up and patting himself off, “‘M goin’ out.”
“Where?” Jabber asks quickly, bouncing up and over to him, “Where’re we goin?”
“I said I’m, not we!”
“Come onnnn, partner!”
“Don’t pull that shit!”
“Zanka,” Zodyl says, cutting through their bickering, “Where do you plan to go?”
“I need t’pick up more cleanin’ equipment for Lovely assistaff,” Zanka explains, “I ran out of the old stuff I had two days ago. Been usin’ Bundus things in the meantime, but I gotta get my own.”
Zodyl nods in understanding. “Be safe.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Yay! Shopping trip!” Jabber cheers.
“You ain’t comin’!”
“Actually,” Momoa hums, “I think I need to pick up a few things too…”
“I need extra parts,” Bundus adds. There’s only so much garbage you can dig through before inevitably needing to go to a Scavenger instead—those bastards always get their hands on the good parts first.
“Aaand,” Jabber croons smugly, “You need someone who can read the labels of the polish and stuff.”
Zanka’s face turns down into an impressive, stormy expression. “Fine,” he grounds out, spinning on his heel, “Shopping trip, I guess.”
Momoa flounces off after him, chuckling softly. Bundus dips his head goodbye to Zodyl before following the group out.
Jabber, ever consistent, hops around Zanka and chatters his ear off about how he’s such a good partner for offering to read any labels for him. Zanka, also ever consistent, jabs his hand into Jabber’s side to make him yelp.
“Where are we gonna go?” Momoa asks, “We all need different things, so…”
Zanka pulls open the car door and slides into the front seat, humming. Momoa gets into the back, and Jabber practically dives into the passenger seat, so Bundus shimmies his way inside the back next to Momoa.
“We’ll head to the Night Market,” Zanka decides, closing his eyes and leaning back in thought, “Where would they have set up shop now…?”
“The Night Market? Can y'finally tell me how you always find them?” Jabber complains, “Every time I go out t’find them, I always just miss ‘em… Zanka, why don't you ever wanna tell me how ya find them?!”
Zanka smirks, putting the car in gear and driving out. “If I didn' before, I still ain’t tellin’ ya how to find them. Y’don’t deserve it, bastard.”
“You’ve still got such a bad attitude!”
“Shut up, don’t distract the driver!”
Bundus sighs tiredly. He peers at Jabber’s side profile as he continues poking fun at Zanka. He must admit, he’s impressed.
Jabber’s always been a mystery to him. The kid craves pain and defeat to a concerning degree, and chases after that desire with reckless abandon. Little can keep his interest, and yet…
Yet when something does, he clings and tears into it with everything he has. Withers it down until it’s given him all that it can offer before moving on.
Jabber watches Zanka with a keen eye, slips in casual words about ‘before’ he lost his memory. He spins lies and traps Zanka in a web without even a hint to the true nature of their relationship.
Bundus is glad, once again, that Jabber is on his side. Because even without his combat prowess, Jabber’s intellect is reason enough to be frightened.
He shakes his head and leans back in his seat. Manipulating a child was not on his list of ‘things he’ll do with the Raiders’, but he’s got no right to worry about morals now.
Besides, Zanka seems to fit right in with them, anyways—there’s very little manipulation actually needed to get him to go along with their plans.
It makes Bundus think. If Zanka hadn’t been a Cleaner, how different would his life have turned out? Would he have joined the Raiders on his own? Gone on to become a Hellguard as planned? Or would he quit, and follow a path of his own?
Would he still be ‘good’, or would he have turned ‘bad’ instead?
Momoa hums softly to herself, stepping into the Night Market. “It’s still impressive that you know where to find it every time,” she lies, peering around at the shops and signs displayed throughout the entire street.
Zanka glances over at where Jabber had immediately got sucked into a conversation about deadly mushrooms by a vendor. “Hellguard keep track of ‘em,” he explains quietly, “They move with a specific set of rules in mind, so 's long as you remember the rules and the last location they were at, it’s easy to find 'em.”
Momoa hums in understanding, fiddling with her jinki as she peers around the crowded street. “Want me to help you pick out your polish?”
Zanka grimaces, but sighs and nods. “Yeah… damn this stupid head injury.”
They sneak away from Jabber to head further into the market, skimming over displays and different wares being sold. “What did y’need to get, actually?” Zanka asks her.
“Toiletries,” she says bluntly. Zanka just hums and nods in understanding. Momoa’s lips quirk up the slightest bit. Although the men she's been around have cared very little about when she mentions her menstrual cycle, it’s still nice when one doesn’t freak out at the mere word.
They walk in companionable silence, occasionally pointing out a product or two. When they find the polish, Momoa reads out each label and the ingredients, until Zanka finds one he likes. They pay, because the Night Market is as serious as it is mysterious, and they will be put on a ‘do not sell to’ list if they cause trouble.
“This’s all I need,” he says, tucking the bottle away in one of the small packs on his leg, peering around, “You’ll have to lead the way. I ain’t got a clue where they’d have toiletries.”
Momoa takes a quick sweep of their surroundings. The shops nearby hold food, clothes, jewelry, and other miscellaneous items she cares little about. “We’ll just wander until I find a stall that looks like it’s selling them.”
“Okay. Do you wanna get some kinda heating pad or sweets?” Zanka asks, thoughtful, “They’ll have a variety of sweets here.”
“Yeah,” Momoa says, “I’ll probably grab some. Ah, there’s a stand there, actually.” She points out a stall with a small crowd of children pointing at the different candy options. They amble over, peering at the selection. Momoa picks out a couple, having them tossed in a bag. Then she thinks for a moment, before buying one small piece for each of the kids. They giggle and run off while shouting their thanks.
“That was nice of you,” Zanka murmurs, as they continue through the Night Market, “...do ya like kids?”
Momoa tilts her head, thinking. “I don’t dislike them,” she says, “They just looked like they really wanted some.”
Zanka hums in understanding. "...I've always had trouble gettin' along with kids."
Momoa chuckles a little. She finds it odd how trusting he’s become of her, offering information so easily. The more he falls into their lie, the more information he gives. Perhaps it’s not useful information by any means, but Momoa is starting to understand the mindset ‘anything can become useful’ that Zodyl often speaks about.
They find a stall with her toiletries a couple minutes later, and Momoa grabs some extra for Cthoni too. “Want to grab a bite to eat?” Zanka offers, peering at the couple of food vendors nearby, “I’m sure Jabber’s causin’ chaos. Bundus’ll be barterin’ for scraps, so maybe we should grab’m somethin’ too.”
“Sure,” Momoa agrees, “Maybe see if there’s any exotic animals we could bring the boss.”
A thoughtful look crosses Zanka’s face then. “Would he wan’t’eat a scorpion? Rare lil’ things from Penta… poisonous too. We should see if they have any.”
“Mh.”
They move through the crowd, peering at different food options. Momoa wouldn’t mind anything, really, but Zanka turns up his nose at anything that isn’t to his liking. A rich kid through and through.
In the end, they get meat skewers. “Good timing,” Zanka says, pointing. Momoa follows his finger to find Bundus in a heated argument with a Scavenger.
“Ah,” she says, “Haggling. Bundus is pretty good at that, actually.”
They wait until after Bundus has successfully bought his scraps to approach, offering a skewer. “Thank you,” he says sincerely, a smile on his face, “This was the last thing I needed. Are you two set to go?”
“We wanted to look at the animals and insects on display,” Zanka explains, “Also, we have to find Jabber. Lord knows what that idiot’s been up to.”
Momoa can only imagine the poor vendors that have had to deal with that chatter box.
As though summoned, a force barrels into Zanka’s back, nearly knocking him over. “Zanka!” Said force cheers, and Momoa recognizes Jabber’s voice from beneath the Kitsune mask he has on, “I got you something!”
“Y’almost knocked me over, idiot!” Zanka barks, shoving Jabber away, “What’s with the mask?”
Jabber pulls it to the side, revealing his manic grin. “Dunno, saw it and thought it looked cool. Anyway, look! Look!” He holds up two vials, one with a clear, translucent liquid and the other with a pure black substance.
Jabber doesn't elaborate. Zanka raises a brow. “The hell am I lookin’ at?”
“It’s poison, duh,” Jabber says, blinking, and Zanka scowls at him, “But! See this one,” he points at the black substance, “It’s a suuuuper painful death sentence! They said it would like, cause you to bleed out all y’pores, throw up a lot, the whole ten yards! Ten minutes of pure slow agony! But this one–” He shakes the clear one around. “–It’s real peaceful. Numbs the whole body and slowly stops your heart, or something. You won’t even feel it when y’die! Boring, right? But then I thought, Zanka would love a poison like that! Cause, y’know, you don’t like pain and stuff–”
“Why would I want a poison?” Zanka asks, confused.
“Oh, right, right,” Jabber says, suddenly remembering what he originally planned to do. Momoa is surprised Zanka let him ramble as long as he did–when Jabber gets this talkative, he won’t stop unless someone makes him lose his train of thought. Many a time did Momoa simply leave the room, only to come back and find Jabber still talking as though she had never left. It’s impressive, really. Though how someone can ramble on for so long about nothing at all, she’ll never know.
Jabber slides the black vial into a small metal cylinder with little designs on it. He closes a cap over it with a large ring connected to it, then pushes his way into Zanka’s personal space to clip said ring around his choker. “Oi,” Zanka complains, but Jabber just giggles and does the same for himself with the other vial.
“There!” he says, “See, now we have each other’s tastes!”
“Each others what?”
“Well, I want to die painfully, and you want to die non-painfully,” Jabber explains easily, pointing at the vial on his neck, “So now, if we think the other’s gonna die, we can give each other these! But also it’s like, we can use them on enemies I guess, and think of the other when we do! Just something else for us, yeah? Anyway,” Jabber grabs Zanka’s hand and hauls him away, “I heard they have poisonous animals that way! Let’s go and find them! I wanna have ‘em bite me!”
“Stop draggin me, dammit! We were headin’ that way anyways!”
Momoa and Bundus share a sidelong glance, before slowly trailing after the two of them. “Jabber and Zanka,” Bundus says quietly, “They’re an… odd pair.”
Momoa hums in agreement. “...surprisingly though, they work well together.” She wonders if Zanka realizes he still hasn’t pulled his hand out of Jabbers, or if he’s leaving it there on purpose. Perhaps he’s finally grown more accustomed to Jabber’s lack of awareness towards personal space.
Either way, Momoa finds herself feeling oddly comfortable with everything. The crowd she could do without, but her team…
Zanka, she thinks, is a good addition to their team. Perhaps if they treat him well enough, he won’t want to leave, even if he regains his memories.
Momoa closes her eyes, sighing softly. She should avoid thinking things like that. Zanka is loyal to a fault, something she’d seen in his memories. He won’t stay with them.
So instead, she’ll indulge in his companionship while she can. She cherishes memories more, after all–she won’t mind looking back on this day with a sense of ease, no matter what happens in the future.
Notes:
The Raiders are interesting because like... everyone is there for their own gain. No one had any complaints about Fu betraying them, just was like 'yup, enemy now' so I can imagine they aren't too connected with each other. Zanka being added is interesting, because he's normal enough that getting attached to him is pretty easy. So they kind of want him to stick around, but also know that if he get's his memories back, he probably won't
This is, however, an entire Raider's bonding chapter. More Bundus action too bc I felt like I was sidelining him a lot, but also Bundus being the 'rookie' in the Raiders is so funny to me because like. Zodyl's front line is almost entirely comprised of teenagers. Zodyl himself is only twenty something. Imagine being two times older then your boss, and three times older then all of your peers. I laugh every time I think about it
ZANKA CAN'T READ! XD this was something I had planned for a while. A head injury can do some damage, and his balance and ability to think clearly weren't affected, neither was his speech. I didn't want this to be a fic where the only affect he had from the head injury was the lack of memories, so I googled a few things and came up with this! Zanka can technically still read, but he can't comprehend the meaning behind the words and has trouble reading sentences out loud because of it. Jabber thinks its the funniest thing in the world.
Speaking of, Jabber is, as always, a pest ^^ but we love him for it. Giving Zanka a poison that will give someone an excruciating death while keeping the one that gives a peaceful death is his version of friendship bracelets btw
Chapter 6
Notes:
Some art for Zanka in this AU! Thought I’d put the link here in case anyone was interested in his design and some of the design choices I made ^^
https://x.com/xx2ender2xx/status/1981584936231415900?s=46
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Zanka rests his chin in hand, the other splayed out in Jabber’s warm grip. Jabber’s tongue is poking out in concentration as he carefully paints Zanka’s nails an alternating blue-purple. He scans his eyes, narrowed in on his task. It’s odd to see him so… quiet. Calm.
Jabber notices him staring and smiles cheekily. “See somethin’ ya like?”
Zanka clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes. “Ya rarely shut up,” he says, “Just appreciating the silence while I have it.”
“Oh how you wound me,” Jabber croons, dramatically leaning back and pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. Zanka’s lips quirk up before he can stop himself, and he pinches his leg in retaliation. Jabber giggles and focuses on finishing his last coat of paint.
“There,” he says, pushing the nail polish away. Zanka holds his hands out in front of himself and wiggles his fingers. His hand is still warm from Jabber’s touch.
“I like ya better when ya shut yer trap,” Zanka says bluntly, “Do it more often.”
“No way,” Jabber snickers, “Annoying you is too fun, man.”
Zanka kicks him lightly. Jabber flicks his shoulder in return. Zanka punches his chest, not nearly as lightly as before. Jabber giggles and tackles him.
Halfway through their scuffle, Zanka’s choker crackles to life, and Zodyl’s voice carries through. “Zanka, I have a mission for you and Jabber.”
Zanka perks up. Jabber, sprawled on top of him, pouts. “Got it,” Zanka says, tapping the choker, “We’ll be down in a min.”
“Aghhh,” Jabber whines, “It was just gettin’ fun…”
“Freak,” Zanka bites, and shoves him off by the face. Jabber laughs at him.
“Zanka, Jabber,” Zodyl greets them, when they reach the den. Momoa and Cthoni are sitting off to the side, “The four of you will be going on this mission together.”
“All four?” Jabber says, bouncing on his heels, “Sounds dangerous. Boss, you spoil me.”
Zodyl holds up a picture. There’s a stout man in it, dressed in an expensive suit. Zanka furrows his brows. “Sinners?”
There’s a small pause. “Sinners?” Jabber repeats, “Like… what, that organization that can’t decide between bein’ bad or good?”
Zanka rolls his eyes. “No. Sinners are a group that do whatever gives ‘em favour. There’s no ‘bad’ or ‘good’ with them. They used t’be called… ah, it was a long time ago, but I think they came from a group called Yakuza?” He waves his hand, “Old criminal organization. Cause they started sellin’ people out and doin’ whatever it takes to keep them own hides safe, even t’their closest allies, people started callin’ ‘em Sinners instead. Name stuck.”
Zanka furrows his brows and turns to Jabber. “Why’d’ya know nothin’ about half the groups on the ground?”
“I don’t care what they’re called, man,” Jabber whines, “Boss tells me who to fight and I fight. ‘S all I care about.”
Zanka rolls his eyes. Of course. “They’ve offered to work with the Hellguard before, but Kyo refused them pretty harshly,” he explains, “That guy is one of the higher ups, in control of the Northern branch.” Zanka blinks. “We stealin’ from the Sinners, boss?”
Zodyl nods, dropping the photo again. “I gained intel that the Sinners got their hands on a set of books containing information on the sphere,” he explains, “I want them.”
Zanka nods in understanding, humming a little to himself. The Sinners are gonna be a hard bunch to steal from…
His face subconsciously breaks out into a small grin. “It’d be fun if I killed some of those fuckers before Kyo did… Go’ would be pissed too…” he doesn’t know how much progress they’ve made with the Sinners and its four different branches, but his siblings had only ever spoken of them with disdain in their voices. He wonders what face they would make, hearing Zanka dealt with one of them in a single night?
“That’s the spirit,” Jabber giggles, “Hey, hey, if ya find someone strong, I getta kill them, ‘kay?”
“Yeah yeah,” Zanka huffs, “Why all four of us? If ya aimin’ to steal, stealth would be the best option, and the less folks the better.”
“We don’t know the exact location in their base,” Zodyl explains plainly, “Cthoni will be your way in, Momoa will be the one to extract the books location from a Sinner, and you and Jabber are the combatants.” He seems to pause, before adding, “Also, Jabber is there so you can read the book titles.”
Zanka’s ears burn in embarrassment. “Right,” he huffs, “Guess that makes sense…” Momoa pats his shoulder as though to say there, there.
“Cthoni will brief you on the information we have so far as you drive over,” Zodyl explains, “Do not fail me.”
“We won’t,” they all chorus in a mix of tones. Zodyl nods, and Cthoni gestures them all out.
“The Sinner’s North branch base is a day or two away,” she explains. Zanka furrows his brows, “Pack a couple bags.”
“Which path are you taking?”
Cthoni peers at him, drumming her fingers against her thigh absently. “I’ll show you a map,” she decides, and turns into a room full of boxes. She begins digging around as Jabber and Momoa argue about who’s driving. Zanka knows damn well it’s not Jabber, if any of them want to actually arrive at the Sinners base on time (if at all).
“Here,” Cthoni says, spreading out a map of the ground. She points to an otherwise empty area that Zanka recognizes as where they’ve set up base. “We’re here.” She drags her finger across the map. “We follow this path, close to a no man’s land to avoid being spotted. This no man’s land is too large to drive through, so going around it will take at least half a day. After that it’s just the distance.” She drags her hand all the way across the map and taps between two jagged peaks. “About a week back, I was able to track down the Northern branches base to between these two mountains here. I’ll be able to get us inside once it’s in sight.”
Zanka points to a shaded section of the map. “Do you know of the tunnel system here?”
Cthoni blinks. “The tunnel system?”
“There’s ‘n old tunnel system left over from some trash beast a long time ago,” Zanka explains, “Not a lot of folks know it exists. It’s dark, but it cuts straight under the no man's land and…” he blinks. “We never used these before?”
“We rarely have group missions,” Momoa cuts in, peering over his shoulder, “You and Jabber are usually all that’s required for any other jobs the boss has, and you tend to drive through no man’s lands for the thrill.”
Yeah, that sounds like them. “We can’t drive through this one?” Jabber cuts in, “It would be fun!”
“No,” Cthoni says, “Mission comes first, adrenaline later.” Jabber groans in annoyance. “Zanka, you’re driving.”
Zanka nods in understanding, staring at the map. Has he really never mentioned the tunnel system before? The Hellguard simply had it on file due to the old report from the Cleaner that had defeated the trash beast responsible. He supposes it would only be useful for the direction they’re heading, so he probably wouldn’t have mentioned it if they didn’t have any missions in that area…
“Zanka.”
Zanka blinks and turns. Jabber smiles at him, tilting his head. “Let’s spar after this, okay?” He says, “Hopefully these guys will be fun, but nothin’s as fun as fightin’ you.”
Zanka feels a strange warmth curl through his gut. “‘Course,” he scoffs, tilting his chin up as he follows him out, “I’m yer partner, dumbass. I’m the only one who gets’ta kill ya.”
Jabber giggles, grabbing his wrist to drag him along faster. Cthoni and Momoa keep an easy stroll behind them, content to watch the two of them run off.
Those tunnels are pretty unknown anyways, he probably just didn’t mention it because he never thought of it until now. He can’t focus on stupid things like that—he has a mission and a masochist to beat.
“Hey,” Zanka asks, peering at the peaks in the distance, “Why can’t we just use yer jinki to get places?”
Cthoni glances up at him, crossing her arms. “I need to either see or have previously seen where I’m taking us to be able to use my instrument.” She runs her finger over the rim of her manhole. “There’s also a factor of distance—If I pre-plant a manhole, I can go there no matter the distance. But if it’s not pre-planted, I have to be within a ten kilometre radius. It takes a lot of energy to summon one, too, so I can tire out if I use them too often.” She lifts her finger and swirls it in a circle. “There’s also a semi-loophole that takes a bit more energy, where if I can visualize something well enough I can go there without having previously seen it before.”
Zanka hums in understanding. Jabber pops up next to him. “Back seats are down now.”
“Why do we need the backseats down for one box of books?” Zanka questions.
“‘Cause we gon’ steal more than just books, Zan-Zan!” Jabber cheers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “What’re they gonna do, report us to the Hellguard?”
Zanka’s lips quirk up before he can stop himself. “True,” he admits, amused. He peers around to see Momoa finally stepping out of the car, joining them at the front.
“Alright,” Cthoni says, “Everyone in.”
She opens a manhole and Zanka goes in first. He drops onto the roof and ducks low, sticking to the edge as he peers over and checks the security guards posted around the base. He can hear his teammates coming through the manhole behind him, and he gestures for them to duck low so they can avoid detection.
Getting inside isn’t too difficult. They spot an empty room across the building and Cthoni opens a manhole so they can all slip inside. He and Jabber take the lead, Jabber more antsy than ever. “Calm down,” Zanka murmurs, stepping out into a dark hallway, “We don’ want no fightin’ unless absolutely necessary.” he starts walking down the quiet hall. Seems like an empty part of the building… likely, security was pulled to up the guard around the books they're looking for.
“We need to find someone for Momoa,” Cthoni says, “Any guard will do, they’ll offer some kind of hint we can go off of so we’re not running blind.”
“They might be in groups, right?” Jabber says, “Want all of ‘em?”
“One would be better,” Momoa says, absently rubbing a strand of her hair between her fingers, “But it might be difficult to lure only one away…”
There’s a small gasp at the end of the hallway. Their heads snap up, four pairs of glowing, soulless eyes boring into the unfortunate Sinner that had just rounded the corner.
“How unlucky,” Momoa drawls quietly, just as Jabber and Zanka lunge.
The Sinner barely gets a squeak out before Zanka breaks his jaw with a strike from Lovely assistaff. Mankira sinks into his side and yanks him away from the corner and further into the dark hallway, into Momoa’s waiting hands.
Zanka peers around the corner to see if anyone else is around. There’s one Sinner falling asleep standing up by the door to a stairway at the far end of the hall, but that’s it. He ducks back around the corner. “Only one other guy by the door,” he reports, crossing his arms as he watches Momoa work, “Anythin’?”
“I have a section of the building,” she says, “But… this guy's just a rookie. He doesn’t know more than that.” She lets go of him and brushes her hands off. “Shame.”
“Mmh, what a shame indeed,” Zanka agrees, lifting Lovely assistaff up, “It just ain’t y’lucky day, huh?”
He brings the butt end of her staff down on his skull. Then again. And again. And again. Jabber giggles behind him, and Zanka finally pulls back. “We should hide the body,” he says, “...Sorry, Momoa, did y’get any blood on ya?”
“You’re good,” Momoa promises, having jumped back when she saw what he was planning to do, “Let’s get a move on. I heard the Sinner’s collect vintage records.”
“Oh yeah?” Zanka says, helping Cthoni lift the body and throw it through one of her manholes, “Rare things, ain’t they. You gotta let me listen to ‘em sometime when we get back.” Momoa nods in agreement.
“Hey, hey,” Jabber asks, bouncing around him, “Will you hit me like that, Zan-Zan?”
“If y’would hold still,” Zanka grumbles, “There’s another guy by the stairwell. Why don’t’chya make yerself useful and kill him?”
Jabber sighs loudly. “It won’t even be interesting…”
“I’ll buy ya one of those poisons you were eyein’ up at the Night Market.”
Jabber darts around the corner with a gleeful laugh. Zanka hears a choked up scream, and rolls his eyes. “Masochist,” he huffs.
“At least he’s listening,” Cthoni sighs, “Usually he’d run off by now to pick a fight.”
“We have the Jabber wrangler,” Momoa muses as she flounces by him, “No need to worry.”
“The–” Zanka blinks, “The what?”
Cthoni pats his shoulder. “Your service is irreplaceable," she says seriously, but her lips quirk up as she passes him, “No one handles Jabber like you do.”
Zanka’s eye twitches. “I’m startin’ t’think the only reason we were made partners was so I could babysit…”
Jabber waves at him happily when he rounds the corner, shoving the corpse into a random room and locking the door from the inside. “You’ll try the poison with me, right Zan-Zan?”
“Hell no,” Zanka refutes, “I’ll pass. Momoa, lead the way.”
“Sure thing…”
They’re quiet as they walk, occasionally taking a manhole or two to get around guards undetected. Jabber breaks into a couple rooms and digs through trinkets that interest him—he finds a box with soft velvet inside he claims Mankira would look real pretty in. Zanka, admittedly, agrees.
They snatch a couple more guards from their stations for Momoa to investigate, until they have a pretty good idea of where the books are. “I think the records are in the same room,” Momoa says, smiling a little, “It’ll make getting them easier.”
“Don’t you want somethin’, Zan-Zan?” Jabber asks, leaning into his side.
“Hah?” Zanka grumbles, pulling at a vent, “Oh, I dunno. Never really thought about it.”
Jabber clicks his tongue. “Sucha goodie-two shoes,” he teases, “Y’got free rein now, remember? Live a little!” Zanka finally wrenches the vent free. “If y’see somethin’ ya like, take it.”
Zanka pauses, thoughtful. Right. He can take things… he’s not with the Hellguard anymore. Clearly, they gave up on him without even thinking twice. “Mh,” he hums, gripping the ledge of the vent and hoisting himself up, “If I see anythin’ I like, sure. Be quiet, we headin’ into the rafters through here—easier to spot the boss’s room from above then weaslin’ around all them guards.”
They follow silently while Zanka navigates, peering through vent openings to assess rooms and numbers. “Gotcha,” he murmurs, and gestures Cthoni forward so she can estimate where to form her manhole.
The room is open, but covered with patrolling guards. Zanka spots a couple givers, but most have handguns. He points out the door to the far left of the room. Cthoni lifts her hand and opens a manhole in the vent in front of them.
She peers through first, assessing, before crawling in. Zanka follows, and he drops down in time to see her knock two guards out.
They pause. The noise doesn’t alert the guards behind the doors in the room they were just watching. Jabber and Momoa pop out after them, and Cthoni closes the manhole. She lets out a small breath afterwards.
“Don’t overdo it,” Zanka murmurs, edging down the short hallway. He peers around the corner. There’s guards lining the hall. This is definitely their target room…
He pulls back. “There’s likely more inside the actual room… Cthoni’s used up enough energy as is, no point in a manhole…” he glances behind him, “…Jabber.”
Jabber grins, his fingers already glowing with Mankira’s light. “Can I have a little fun?”
“So impatient,” Zanka sighs, “Just knock these guys out without settin’ off any alarms, huh?”
Jabber rolls his eyes, but he’s feeling cooperative today, as he swings around the corner with his claws glowing. Mankira slices through the row of guards in a single second, and her toxins get to work as they drop to the ground, paralyzed.
Zanka walks up to the door, running his hand over the designs in the wood. “Fake wood,” he murmurs, picking at some of the peeling, “This is metal. Also means it’s likely sound proof.” He thinks the last couple of doors were made of the same material. Perhaps that’s why Cthoni was able to knock those guards out without tipping anyone on the other side off—they’re all soundproof. How convenient.
Momoa uses her jinki on one of the frozen guards. “That guy is in there,” she says, “The one from boss’s photo.”
Zanka smirks. “Good,” he takes a step back and shifts his weight, “I’m kickin’ the door in.”
“Won’t there be gunners inside?” Cthoni asks, “We should try and guess their locations, to figure out the best way to subdue them without getting shot.”
“Eh,” Zanka says, “I can dodge bullets.” And he slams his heel into the spot above the door handle with as much force as he can muster. There’s a collective ‘huh?’ behind him from his declaration, but he bursts into the room with Lovely assistaff at the ready.
There’s yelps of alarm, and Zanka kills two men with Lovely assistaff’s spikes before they can pull their guns. Three more go down before bullets start flying, and he twirls around them to slice through the remaining guards throats.
“Hey, hey!” Jabber says cheerfully, skipping into the room, “Who can dodge bullets, man? You crazy!”
“Kyo made me learn,” Zanka explains, turning to the Sinner higher up cowering on the floor behind a large desk. On said desk are piles of books. “This our prize?” He asks, picking one up and handing it to Jabber.
He skims over the title and lets Cthoni read it over his shoulder. They both nod. “This the stuff,” Jabber confirms, “What’re we doin’ about Mr. Scaredy over here?”
Zanka peers down at him, stomping on his wrist to stop him from contacting backup through the choker hanging there. He tilts his head, enjoying the fear in the Sinners eyes as he cowers before them.
“Kill him,” he says plainly, smirking a little now, “I wonder what you’ll sound like when I break y’bones apart…”
He starts with his wrist, breaking the chocker alongside it, and something akin to pleasure prickles up his spine when he screams in response.
His team works around him, dimming the lights in the room to make it easier for when Cthoni opens a manhole back to the car, carrying the books through. Momoa grabs her vintage records and makes Jabber help her carry the large record player through the manhole as well.
Zanka takes his time with the Sinner. Experiments with breaking his limbs, how it feels to do so, to watch his face scrunch up and hear him scream in agony. He spends time learning how much force he can exert on Lovely assistaff before something shatters beneath her.
He gets bored quickly. It’s not the same as when he and Jabber fight. It’s interesting, sure, but… he’s not fighting back at all. It’s just pathetic.
He slams the prongs of Lovely assistaff over his throat, disappointed. He might as well kill the guy now.
As though hearing his thoughts, Lovely assistaff’s spikes glow, and they shoot through the prongs. Zanka startles a little as they impale the Sinner’s throat.
“Didn’ know y'could do that," he says softly, watching the spikes recede as he brings her upright, wiping at the blood on her form, “Always so full’f surprises.”
He spots something from the corner of his eye and pauses.
The room itself is large, with bookshelves lining the walls and stairs to a small second floor with a simple lounge above. Beneath those stairs are two extra rooms.
The one to the left catches his attention. It’s made up in a display, with the centre piece being some kind of motorcycle.
He walks over and runs his hand down the seat, curious.
It’s been modified, more than the old ones. Likely a much newer, commissioned design that the Sinner high up had asked for. Motorcycles were rare now due to being unable to travel the terrain like cars do, often being broken down and used for parts instead, but with the way this model has been altered…
Zanka grins a little and glances around. There’s extra tanks of gas stacked against the wall, and keys hung in a frame next to it.
Zanka hooks two of the gas tanks onto the back of the motorcycle, empties one inside, and snatches up the key to stick it in the ignition. The engine rumbles between his thighs as she purrs to life.
Jabber rounds the corner with wide eyes and an excited smile. “Holy shit,” he says, bounding right over, "I know I said steal whatever y’like, but this is pretty big, Zan-Zan.”
Zanka revs the engine. “Yeah yeah, get on, idiot.”
Jabber giggles excitedly and slots himself behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist. Zanka kicks off the brakes and carefully manoeuvres the bike around and through Cthoni’s manhole.
Momoa whistles. “Nice ride.”
Zanka fits his gas mask on, hiding his grin as he gets an idea. “Thanks. Why don’t’chya head on back? Me and Jabber are takin’ a detour.”
Jabber shakes his shoulders happily, bouncing in place. “We goin’ through the no man’s land?!” He asks excitedly, “Hey, hey, Zan-Zan, you gonna drive us through the no-man’s land?!”
“I gotta test this thing somehow,” Zanka says, and Jabber shrieks in delight.
“Stay in town, it’ll be night soon,” Cthoni orders them, “If you’re driving through a no man’s land, at least be slightly less dumb about it.”
“Yeah, alright,” Zanka agrees, the warmth of Jabber’s chest pressing into his back, “We’ll be careful. Careful as we can be, anyways.”
Zanka presses the gas and shoots off. Jabber scrambles for purchase on his waist, laughing maniacally.
They already successfully completed their mission—what’s it matter if they have a little fun now?
Goka spent months preparing for this mission. Careful planning, tracking, practice simulation after practice simulation, making plans for every possible outcome…
And when they roll up to the Sinner’s Northern branch to finally arrest and deal with these nuisances, they’re in such shambles that taking them apart seems like child’s play.
All his effort, after Kyouka gave him control of this mission while she examined his progress from the side, and someone went and killed his target before he could even step foot on the property. This was the last branch before they would need to crack down on the Western branch, once and for all ridding themselves of the Sinners, and someone had beaten him to it.
“Well,” Kyouka says, examining the corpse, “How strange indeed… Goka, what do you see?”
Goka takes a careful breath, examining the body. “Blunt force trauma,” he reports, "Multiple broken bones. The killing blow was to the neck, some kind of spikes. Whoever this was took their time with him.”
“Good,” Kyouka says curtly, and turns to the other guards in the room, “Round up the rest of the Sinners, then tear this place apart. Confiscate anything useful, and leave the rest for the Scavengers to find.”
“Yes ma’am!” They salute, and hurry out of the room.
Goka purses his lips. “…this has to be the Raiders.”
“Indeed,” Kyouka agrees, "No other group on the ground could have gotten in or out without alerting the whole compound. But… this method of killing is new from them.”
Goka closes his eyes, thinking. Blunt force trauma, then a kill with spikes…
A certain staff comes to mind, and Goka grits his teeth. “Zanka,” he says finally, quietly. Kyouka hums and closes her eyes.
Goka’s chest swirls with a mix of emotions. Anger that his baby brother got to the target Goka has been hunting for months, annoyance that he had not come soon enough to catch him in the act. Distraught at the destructive behaviour the Sinner’s corpse shows—a painful, drawn out death, less for information and more for fun. A lingering feeling of failure as he’s faced with what the Raiders have turned his baby brother into—a murderous criminal.
“It seems the Raiders have fully convinced Zanka onto their side,” Kyouka says quietly, “…as his family, we are responsible for stopping him before he falls any deeper into their ruse.”
Goka’s jaw clenches. Memories or no, Zanka should have known better than to allow himself to be pulled into the Raider’s claws. He has so much potential, potential and power and a speed of growth Goka would kill to get his hands on.
He shakes his head. “Scour the surrounding area,” he orders into his choker, “Look for any signs of where the perpetrators may have gone.”
He follows Kyouka out of the room, both of them quiet. “Goka,” she says, “Bring him back. Even if you have to hurt him to do so.”
Goka nods. “Of course.” Their baby brother is their responsibility—no matter how much he may loathe them for it, Goka will drag him back kicking and screaming like the child he once was. Kyouka was lenient in his defiance when he chose to become a Cleaner, but a Raider…
His choker crackles with an update. “There’s tire tracks five kilometres out southeast of the peaks, sir.”
“We’re heading to you now,” he says, and they pick up the pace. They're silent on the trip over, leaving each other to their own thoughts on Zanka. Goka, privately, wishes to ask what Kyouka is thinking. He knows better.
The tire tracks are unusual. “A two wheeler,” Kyouka notes in mild interest. Goka recalls the strange display room in the office that he had thought looked strangely empty.
“A modified vehicle,” he says, standing up, “They must have stolen it on their way out.” He waves a hand at their subordinates. “You two, with us! These tracks aren’t that old—we may catch their trail if we’re fast enough.”
“Yes sir!”
“The rest of you continue with cleanup here.”
They take two cars, Goka wasting no time to chase after the leftover trail, itching to find its end. “We don’t know which of the Raider’s we’ll find, if we catch up to them at all,” Kyouka says, “Calm yourself.”
Goka takes a deep breath, hands tightening over the steering wheel. “Yes, commander.”
The trail leads them to a town, where asking around informs them that two boys had stayed the night before riding out about an hour ago. Goka speeds off in the direction they were pointed, aiming to make up for lost time and reach their perpetrators.
Except Goka recognizes the direction they’re heading. “The Raiders aren’t that insane,” he murmurs, peering at the tracks in the dirt, “Only an idiot would drive through this…”
The no man’s land towers over them. They fasten their masks on as they get closer, and they stop at the border. One of the larger no man’s lands that would be foolish to enter, giver or not.
“Sir,” one of their guards calls, standing on their car with binoculars in his hand, “...you might want to see this.”
Goka climbs up the car and grabs the binoculars, peering into the distance. At first he can’t spot anything, but a glimpse of trash being kicked up draws his attention, and he zeroes in on familiar earrings.
Goka grits his teeth. “Zanka.”
Kyouka lets out a soft breath, shaking her head. “...this is as far as we go. You two, begin heading back.” She jumps on the car beside him and takes the binoculars to get a good look herself. “Thought so, they’re too far in to be worth chasing.”
“Kyouka,” Goka protests quietly, “They’re right there. We need to–” carried over by the air, Goka hears loud, gleeful laughter that causes his protest to fizzle out.
Kyouka shakes her head, handing the binoculars back. “A no man’s land is dangerous for us,” she says, as Goka goes back to watching Zanka ride through the trash ridden terrain with laughter shaking his shoulders. Jabber Wonger, the lunatic that had a large hand in taking Zanka away from them, is equally as cheerful while they get flung into the air by a forming trashbeast. They land safely and ride down its spine, laughter mixing together.
Something ugly twists in his chest. Has he ever heard Zanka so happy before? Why the hell is he so eager to get himself killed doing reckless shit like this, smiling the whole while, when he’s in the company of the scum of the Earth? Did he really forget everything he was taught, everything he was raised to believe, just like that?
“You still have much to learn, if you are allowing your emotions to cloud your judgment,” Kyouka says, and he feels a pinch in his chest, “Come, Goka. We will not waste resources or time on a useless chase.”
Goka knows that. He knows they cannot follow into the no man’s land and hope to make it out alive. He knows that by the time they loop around the area, Zanka will have been long gone.
Goka turns and slides off the car, getting into the front seat instead. Zanka’s laughter and shouting is distant but loud, as are the roars of the waking trash beasts. Goka’s hands curl into fists, cracking the binoculars in his hold.
He’ll drag Zanka back by the scruff of his neck–he does not get to use his flame for a group like the Raiders. The Cleaner’s never should have been given access to that ever undying flame either, but better them then criminals.
“Zanka will return,” Kyouka says calmly, ever level headed, “There will be another opportunity to retrieve him. The Cleaners have been cooperative in tracking him down, as well.” She glances at him. “You did well today, Goka.”
He did not. His baby brother took his target, his mission, his carefully cultivated plan and tore it to shreds. His baby brother is happier than he’s ever heard him, with a lunatic hanging off his waist and risking his life for the thrill of danger. His baby brother has blood on his hands that he will never wash off.
His baby brother, as always, makes Goka’s blood boil in a disgusting mix of anger, and worry.
Notes:
Ooo siblings POV finally!!!
Zanka: haha imagine if my brother saw me killing the guys he’s been wanting to kill for so long
Zanka: *unknowingly does exactly that*
No but something I wanted to mention here: Zanka calls Kyouka ‘Kyo’ and Goka ‘Go’. I decided to do this due to the way he refers to them in the manga. Because the Japanese version is translated pretty directly into English, words like ‘nii-chan’ ‘onii-chan’ ‘Aniki’ and any variation of that sort are written exactly as they mean, ‘big brother’ or ‘big sister’.
As someone with siblings, English speakers DO NOT refer to siblings this way. It’s really weird to hear, actually. I call my siblings every name in the book before their actual name, let alone ‘sister/brother’.
But the way Urana writes the Nijiku’s referring to each other is still special! Because Kyouka and Goka refer to Zanka by his name, while Zanka still refers to them as ‘big sister’ and ‘big brother/bro’. It’s kind of a subtle way to show that Zanka still thinks of his siblings somewhat endearingly, while his siblings are more professional and see him as more estranged due to him leaving.
I also like to imagine Kyouka and Goka only get an accent when they’re guard is down or when they’re really angry, because they have a bit of an accent but we don’t see it as much as we do Zanka. I like to think he gave up trying to mask his accent because he got angry way too easily and constantly slipped up
Anyway Nijiku rant over—this chapter was fun! I hope the heist scene made sense, describing rooms is hard sometimes :\ the world of Gachiakuta is so much fun to play around with. Making all these different groups is gonna come back to bite me somehow though I’m sure XD
Cthoni’s jinki is suuuper interesting. I’ve kind of made up my own rules for them?? Because I’m not 100% certain how it really works, but I need guidelines for the sake of fanfiction. There would literally be no point in the Raider’s having cars if Cthoni didn’t have like… some kind of distance limitation. So I made one. 10km seemed reasonable so.
Zanka is slowly caring less and less about the inconsistencies in his place in the Raiders. It’s gonna make it a lot harder to get him back on everyone else :)
Anyway hope you enjoyed!!! Sorry for all my yapping lol
Chapter Text
Zanka and Jabber make it back alive, disheveled and coming off from an adrenaline high. Zodyl gives them a once over, and tilts his head. “Try not to bleed out,” he settles on saying, and goes back to skimming through the books they’d retrieved.
“Will do boss!” Jabber chirps, and Zanka hauls his ass towards their ‘nurses office’. Although relatively unscathed, Jabber’s still scratched up and Zanka managed to get a pretty deep cut up the side of his calf.
“Damn,” Jabber hums, subdued and leaning his entire body weight against his back as Zanka cleans his wound, “That was fun.”
“Yeah,” Zanka agrees, a little winded, “I’m wrappin’ you next.”
“Nah, no need.”
“Masochist, I ain’t askin’, I’m tellin’.”
Jabber groans loudly, dropping his head back on his shoulder and letting his dreads fall over his front. Zanka rolls his eyes at the whiny tone.
He finishes up bandaging his leg, then reaches back and grabs Jabber's shirt to yank him over his shoulder and into his lap. Jabber grunts, disoriented, and grins up at him. “Ooh, hey~”
“Y’took yer mask off too early,” Zanka says, clicking his tongue, “S’got ya all loopy.”
He dabs the antiseptic onto the cuts going up his arms and the small one on his cheek. Jabber blinks rapidly, staring intently at him as Zanka works.
“Face hasn’ changed since the last time y’saw it, ain’t changing anytime soon either,” Zanka mumbles, pressing a bandaid to his cheek and swiping his thumb along it to flatten it out. Jabber’s nose scrunches, then settles, face blank.
“What’re y’doin’?” He finally asks.
“Making sure y’dont get infections,” Zanka says, rolling his eyes as he goes about wrapping his arms. It’s a bit of an odd angle, because Jabber is still laying on his lap, but Zanka makes it work.
“No, no.” He eyes the way Zanka carefully pins the bandages in place. “…never mind.”
Zanka raises a brow but ignores it, letting out a soft yawn as he leans back, feeling the exhaustion finally hit full force. He nudges Jabber with his knee to try and knock him off, but he wraps his arms around his waist in an iron grip and conks out on his lap.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Zanka groans, “Who falls asleep that fast?” He nudges him harder, and Jabber doesn’t move an inch. Great. Now he’s stuck.
Zanka sighs loudly, letting his head fall back. He rolls his shoulder, wishing for his bed. No, a shower. He needs a damn shower. Do they even have showers here? Zanka can’t imagine he’d allow the Raiders to go without a basic bathroom setup, so he’ll have to ask Jabber where the showers are.
Jabber continues to snore against his chest. Zanka falls all the way back, splaying his arms out as he struggles to keep his eyes open. He’s gonna kick Jabber’s ass later for using him as a pillow, he swears.
It’s the last thought he has before he passes out.
Zanka hums in relief when the water starts running and it comes out warm. The bathroom area is relatively clean, all things considered, and according to Jabber, Bundus usually keeps maintenance on the piping and water coming from the well he’d set up outside.
There’s a cracked mirror over the sink where Zanka places a towel, and it’s in that reflection as he’s unwrapping his leg with his foot on the counter edge that something catches his attention.
He runs his hand over the scabbed cut, pursing his lips. It’s going to scar, not bad but definitely visible. He’ll have to be careful not to reopen it in the shower.
That’s not what catches his eye though, no. He leans back, eyes slowly lifting up from the wound and over his pale leg. His gaze sweeps up the inside of his thigh, up his stomach and chest, then down over his arms.
He runs his hand over an old bullet wound on his thigh from Kyouka’s harsh training, a small scar on the underside of his arm from when he was a kid. His eyes drift back to the cut on his leg.
They’re the only marks on his body.
Something in his stomach twists. Years with the Raiders, and he didn’t get any injuries. Nothing new from his days at the academy until the cut on his leg. A stupid gash he got because he took a turn too sharp to avoid a waking trash beast and managed to catch his calf on a pole sticking out from the trash.
…had he really gotten so weak, just because he lost his memories?
He scowls, turning away from the mirror and stepping into the shower. The water’s warm, but he turns it up until it burns, trying to melt the insecurities crawling up his back.
They said he was strong with them, said he had gotten stronger. Which must be true, if he’s done missions, if he’s trusted as much as he seems to be, if Zodyl tells him he’s one of his strongest—
He had been free, and strong, and so damn good at his job that he came back unscathed every time. And now, now he’s back to where he was, weak and careless, getting injured when he should have been able to avoid it.
Zanka buries his fingers in his hair, digging his nails into his scalp as he attempts to ground himself. His thoughts swarm and overwhelm him, reminding him of his failures, of his incompetence in the face of the real world–surrounded by real geniuses–
The Raiders front lines are excellent people, strong, smart, efficient. Zanka doesn't fit in with them, can’t fit in with them. He’s a fraud among real combatants, just like he was at the academy. Nothing has changed since then, nothing at all. He’s still a liar, an average guy pretending to be a genius, completely overshadowed by the true geniuses, by Jabber, by Hyo. Always in the shadows, never a light of his own, never good enough.
He’s the third son, last born, last picked, worst of the family, average, a nobody pretending he’s somebody–
Zanka is hyperventilating. He sucks in a breath and inhales some of the shower water. It burns on the way down and causes him to cough uncontrollably, shocking him from his spiral. The hot water burns and burns and burns, and he scrambles to get out from under its spray. He stumbles and barely catches himself from smacking his head on the floor as he slips out of the shower.
He gags, heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He scraped his knees from the harsh landing, the pain helping to lower the ringing in his ears. His skin is peeling and red from the boiling water, and as he slowly comes back to himself, so does the pain.
He drags himself towards the sink, reaching up to pat around the counter top. He finds his towel and pulls, his choker falling down with it.
He manages to pull the towel around his waist with trembling hands. It’s still a little hard to breathe, a little hard to think straight. He hates it, because it just proves his point. He pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around himself and digging his nails into his shoulders, scratching at the blisters. The pain grounds him, stutters his thoughts, but never shuts them up. He needs them to quiet down, he needs the insistent mantra of not good enough, not good enough, not good enough to just- stop-
Jabber.
Zanka gasps softly at how clearly the thought comes to him. Jabbers poisons, toxins, Mankira’s ability, it made everything quiet last time. Zanka fumbles as he tries to grasp his choker, wincing as the pain becomes less grounding and just plain agonizing. He presses his back flat to the sink cupboards, the cool wood soothing the burns some, and he presses the front of his choker.
“Mm, Zan-Zan?” Jabber’s voice echoes around the bathroom, “Done showerin’ already, man?”
“Need–” Zanka coughs a little, voice hoarse. Fuck, he can’t believe he’s asking for Jabber’s help like this, can’t believe he’s really this weak, but he needs that empty feeling again, and Jabber’s the only one who can give it to him, “Need Mankira.”
“Need…? Ah, oh, shit, I'm comin’ Zanka. Manikra’ll take good care of you, promise.”
Zanka takes a shuddering breath. His back hurts. His head hurts, everything hurts and he needs it to stop.
He doesn’t hear when Jabber breaks the door handle to get into the bathroom. He only notices his presence when he grabs his arm, a small noise escaping him as his burns are pressed on. “Shit, man,” Jabber hums, “Burned y’self good… and you call me the masochist?”
Zanka grasps his hand and brings it to his neck, feeling an inexplicable urge to puke. It’s too much, too much for him to know Jabber’s seen him like this, too much feelings, sensations, it's just too much.
“Mankira,” he slurs, lightheaded. He needs her toxin, that feeling of numbness and quiet she gave him. He presses Jabber’s hand closer to his throat so her rings press into his skin, and peers up into Jabber’s wide eyes, “Mankira,” he mumbles again, “Need ‘er.”
Jabber’s smile spreads slowly, his eyes glowing a brilliant pink as Mankira forms around his fingers, her claws a cool metal against his burning skin. “It’s okay,” Jabber coos, pressing the pad of his thumb against his pulse point, dragging the tip of his pointer claw across his jaw in a smooth cut. The feeling is immediate, a numbing, cooling sensation enveloping him. Zanka slumps forward, head only kept up from Jabber’s hand still around his throat. “Everything’s okay, yeah?” Jabber says, gently stroking his cheek with his other hand, “Me and Mankira will take reeeeal good care of ya… that’s what partners are for, hm~?”
Zanka hums noncommittally, not completely registering the words. He doesn’t quite remember why he was so upset. Was he upset? If he was, he doesn’t know why, there’s no real reason to be. He feels like he’s floating. It’s nice. Oh, he’s moving.
“Work with me a bit here, Zan-Zan,” Jabber murmurs amusedly, wrapping an arm around his waist to lift him up. Zanka hums softly, head falling to his shoulder. Jabber sets him on the shower floor–the water’s off, when did it get turned off?–and he pulls his dreads into a high bun before removing his jacket. It leaves him in a loose black tank top. Zanka thinks he looks nice.
“Easy now,” Jabber murmurs, catching him when Zanka begins slumping forward, “Gotta put you under some cold water for these burns, hm? Y’won’t really feel it, but don’t want ya inhaling any water.” He grabs the towel Zanka had brought and folds it to place over his head, bringing him forward so he’s resting against his shoulder. He reaches behind him, jostling him a bit, and Zanka lets out a small noise as the water hits his back. He thinks it’s cold, but he can’t really tell. It’s dark–he’d slumped completely against Jabber, his face mushed into his collarbone–but it’s nice.
“There we go,” Jabber murmurs, “Hey, Zan-Zan, next time take that anger out on me, okay?”
Anger? Was he angry? Zanka doesn’t know why he would be. He shifts a bit, slowly, his limbs feeling far away from his body. But he remembers Jabber, his presence grounding, nice. He closes his eyes, content.
Jabber is gentle with the towel, carefully drying Zanka off, patting his back in soft touches. Zanka leans into his touch, unsure why he's being so gentle—did Zanka deserve it? Ah, wait, the shower is over. When did he finish his shower?
Jabber hums a soft tune, and Zanka has a shirt stuffed over his head. He blinks, glancing up. Jabber grabs his calf—his hands are large, warm. Zanka thinks he can feel it through the haze in his mind, and decides it’s a nice feeling—tugging his leg up so he can slip pants on him. His other leg goes in next. Oh, right, he’d been naked.
“Up we go!” Jabber says cheerily, and suddenly the world tilts on its axis. Zanka makes a soft noise, disoriented. Jabber’s back is toned.
“Man,” Jabber murmurs, moving. They’re moving. Zanka’s being carried, he realizes belatedly, “Got my pants all wet… eugh, feels all weird.” They’re rising, rising—stairs, they’re on stairs. “That’s a’ight I guess, couldn’t let ya drown in the shower.” And then Jabber laughs. It’s a nice laugh. Zanka chuckles softly to himself, too. He’s not sure what Jabber finds so funny, but he laughs with him anyway.
“Awww, Zan-Zan,” Jabber coos, shifting as he meanders his way over—objects, things, Zanka can’t quite name them—piles of stuff, “I’m so happy, y’know? No one ever wants to use Mankira like I do, but she’s got so many fun toxins she wants t’use, and it’s a damn shame no one wants to!” He’s rambling and Zanka is zoning in and out, not quite comprehending, but the timbre of his voice is pleasant on the ears. “It’s so good t’know you want to rely on her—on us. Ain’t we such good partners? I even grabbed assistaff for ya! She’d miss you too much if y’were separated.”
Assistaff, yes, Zanka’s Lovely assistaff, his beautiful stick, his pretty, perfect weapon. Where is she? Oh, right, Jabber’s holding her. That’s okay, he’s holding him, too. Jabber is gentle with his vital instrument, so Zanka thinks it’s okay to let him carry her for now. Just until Zanka understands why his feet aren’t touching the ground.
Oh, right, he’s over Jabber’s shoulder. Or, no, not anymore. His front is pressed into something soft, his cheek squished against something softer. His eyes rove around, lingering on Jabber's bare back as he hunches over something. A bed, he’s on a bed—mattress?—and it’s nice, and Jabber is suddenly leaning over him again.
“Easy does it,” he says, and Zanka is lifted as his shirt—Jabber’s shirt—is pulled over his head again. Then something cool and pleasant runs down his spine, and Zanka’s eyes flutter shut, “This’ll help with the burns, Zan-Zan. Don’t be so reckless next time, hm? Burning y’self like this, how can y’run missions if you this hurt?”
Missions? Did he have any? He doesn’t think Zodyl gave him any. What mission would he even go on? Would they be fun? Zanka doesn’t get to do many fun things—he wants to do more. He wants to have fun like he did with Jabber. Jabber makes him have fun.
“Next time y’feel like hurtin’ yourself, just come and hurt me instead!” Jabber says cheerily, as the pleasant feeling trails down the back of his arms, “It’s no fun if y’take yourself out, Zan-Zan. That’s not how our game works.”
Game? He must have forgotten the rules. He should apologize, but his tongue doesn’t move the way he wants it to. Instead he makes a soft humming noise. Wait, did he say something about Zanka hurting himself? He doesn’t remember being in pain. He must have misheard.
The bed dips, and Zanka wonders what’s causing it. Oh, Jabber is lying directly in front of him. His expression is soft—smiling. He’s smiling, small, endearing. Zanka likes it. It looks nice on him.
“You’re okay now,” Jabber coos at him, “Your partners got ya. I’ll bandage y’up when the cream settles and we can have a nice, loooong nap. Then after y’wake up, you can kick the shit out of me!”
Zanka blinks slowly, trying to understand what he’s saying. Soft pressure engulfs his cheeks, gentle in their cradle, something hard pressing against the skin. Jabber, it’s Jabber. Zanka tilts his head a little, happy to lean into the hands cupping his cheeks. Had he said something, again? Oh, he’s closer now. Zanka’s lashes flutter as their foreheads are pushed together, and he can’t help but think that Jabber has very pretty eyes. Oh, he’s talking again.
“Yeah,” he whispers, “We can fight to the death, yeah? Maybe near death… I know, I know! I’ll nurture you, Zan-Zan. Grow ya like my poisonous plants.” He strokes his thumbs under his eyes, elated. Zanka tries to comprehend what he’s talking about, but he’s saying too much too quickly. He thinks about telling him to slow down, but finds he doesn’t really care enough to bother. “I’ll transform you into your strongest self… break you down and build you up from scratch, until you become someone who can never lose t’me, yeah? I want you to be so strong I ain’t even stand a chance against you…”
“You’ll be that person for me, right?” Jabber pleads quietly, nudging closer. Zanka likes the gentle timbre of his voice, feeling it envelope him with reverence. He thinks he almost understands what Jabber just asked him, but he speaks up again and Zanka forgets what he was trying to figure out in the first place, “Yeah, you will be. I can do it, I can help ya get that strength y’want. Was never good at patience, but I’ll find some for ya. So don’t let me down, okay Zanka?”
“Become the guy that can kill me with just his thumb… and I’ll give you everything I am.”
Zanka blinks slowly again, gaze sweeping absently over the bridge of Jabber’s nose. He thinks he hears the tail end of his words, but he’s not too sure what he means by it. So he ignores it, closing his eyes to bask in Jabber’s embrace.
He doesn’t know why, but he thinks everything is okay, so long as Jabber is next to him.
Riyo remembers the first time she killed someone.
She remembers the way they screamed when she sunk her scissors through their eye, the ringing it caused in her ears. She remembers the sound they made as they gurgled on their own blood once she slit their throat. She remembers the warmth of their blood on her skin, the way their body went limp.
She doesn’t remember their face, or their name, or what they looked like. It blends in with her other victims, with every job she did afterwards. It became easy, quick, just routine.
Enjin doesn’t want her to think like that anymore. He wants her to be a kid again, to look and see the bright side of things. But every enemy they face, Riyo takes note of their weaknesses. She considers the quickest way to take them out, the angle at which she’d need to snap their neck, or how fast she’d need to be to slit their throat. She meets every new acquaintance with suspicion, never dropping her guard until she knows they’re safe.
She is tainted. She is nothing like her fellow Cleaners, always feeling like an outsider peering in. She was fine in being alone in this, okay in being the one that, in the end, would tear their enemies apart if need be. Okay with being kicked out afterwards—so long as her family is safe, as long as the people who took her in and saved her were okay. She was willing to carry that burden on her own.
That’s why her heart drops when she reads over the Hellguards report.
Zanka had killed someone.
He had done so brutally, without mercy. Had taken his time, tortured his victim before taking his life.
And now he was like her—tainted. Soaked in the blood of another. Except this was different, because Zanka has no idea what he’s doing.
She feels ill. The Raiders have taken him, turned him into something he isn’t—a murderer. He came to the Cleaners to prove his worth, and Riyo had liked watching him grow strong, had enjoyed observing him as he grew into himself. They had become friends, family, and now he was gone.
“Enjin,” she whispers, hands crinkling the edge of the paper, “Will you hear me out now?”
Enjin runs his hand through his hair, cigarette hanging from his lips. “No,” he says softly, “We need to save him, Riyo. Our priority is him, not revenge.”
Riyo looks away. It’s the same thing, isn’t it? Killing his captors would free him. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t remember, if they’ve truly tricked him into being—into thinking he’s one of them. The Cleaners can help him regain his memory, remind him who his true family is.
She was supposed to be the only one to carry the burden of being a killer. Of having it haunt her through the halls, having it hover over her shoulder during every interaction. A constant reminder that she’s different.
And now Zanka will have that burden, too. It makes her blood boil. It makes her mourn the loss of his innocence. It makes her angry, angry at herself for failing to protect him, angry at the Raiders for taking him away—for taking away his choice.
“Riyo,” Enjin says, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder, “We’ll get him back. We know where he was last seen, which means we know he’s alive and well. Even if he… it doesn’t matter.” He ruffles her hair, smiling a little. “Zanka will come home. We’ll get him back, yeah? We’ll make it through this. We always do.”
Riyo purses her lips, placing the report down again. “He’s going to hate himself,” she whispers, “He’s going to be disgusted, Enjin.”
“And we’ll be there for him,” Enjin says firmly, “We won’t let him go through it alone. You especially, right?”
Riyo blinks. Then laughs, mirthful. “You’re so stupid,” she says, shaking her head, “I’m going to find Tomme. We’re going on recon to try and track Zanka’s location.”
“I'm just saying!” Enjin calls after her as she strolls down the hall, “You worry too much. We’ll get him back, and he’ll be in one piece!”
Riyo smiles a little. He’s so dumb. He’s right, but he’s dumb. She hums a soft tune, skipping her way down the hall. Zanka will be going through a lot—the quicker they get him back, the sooner they can protect him from doing anymore damage.
And Riyo will be there for him. Because she knows better than anyone what it feels like to take a life—and she won’t let Zanka suffer through that guilt alone. The guilt she is achingly familiar with.
…But, If she has to slaughter a couple Raiders to get him back, she doesn’t think that guilt will find home in her chest.
Not this time.
Notes:
Okay good news is: I know where I want this fic to go. I have specific scenes laid out and I know exactly how I want it to end. Most of the time spent on this fic is just pacing and ensuring the scenes I have in mind feel natural in their progression.
Bad news: My life is hectic and I don't always have the time to map out that progression, so updates might not be as consistent as I had hoped :/
But!!!! I will try my hardest. Hope you all like what I did in this chapter. I find it interesting, because the cleaner's have Eisha, who we know is capable of healing wounds to the point of leaving no scars what so ever. Zanka, who thinks he's been with the raiders for a couple years now, would immediately notice how odd it is that he has no new scars since the academy despite the dangers that come with being a raider. Que the anxieties?insecurities/self-deprecating thoughts that he's yet to get over now that he's back to being fresh out of the academy :D
Riyo's perspective!! Without knowing her full backstory I don't know how well that part will age but I think it gets my point across well enough XD hope you like what I did with it! Also, although I know what I want to do with the fic, I'm not certain about the tags. If there is anything you think should be tagged, please let me know so I can add it!
I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, will do my best to get the next one out to you as well <3
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