Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zanka has the patience of a saint—or so has said Riyo whenever she likes to put it to the test. 

But right now it is starting to prove how wrong the statement was.

Corvus has been the person he has respected the most when he joined The cleaners, with the exception of Enjin, for he’s always the one above anyone else; and Zanka trusts his judgment when it comes to taking decisions no one but the boss could make.

That doesn’t mean they are reasonable.

“What?” Zanka scoffs, an alarming expression is shown on his face, “Please, repeat that?”

“Jabber Wonger is joining The Cleaners starting today,” Corvus repeats with all the seriousness in the world, not a hint of humor nor sarcasm is shown, and Zanka has to do a double take at where Jabber is standing beside the boss’s desk to realize this is not a prank, “He’s going under the vigilance and tutelage of Team Akuta.”

Jabber Wonger.

The Raider who almost took his life whilst fighting inside a trash beast and sent him stray to wee-woo land while high on poison.

The same sucker who degraded him, called him weak, and sparked the insecurity he has been struggling with for many years in silence.

Jabber motherfucker Wonger with dreads tied into bronze cuffs and deadly rings adorning each long finger of his hands, waving at him with nothing but sadistic mirth swimming in those magenta eyes of his while Corvus let them process the news.

Rudo, standing beside him and watching the man who almost made him mourn twice, has not said a thing yet, his red orbs almost bugging out of his eyesockets as he trails his gaze from the boss to Jabber, and back to the boss, in complete and utter disbelief.

Enjin is the first to break the silence, an eyebrow raised and weight leaning onto his umbrella, “Boss, with all due respect, what the fuck.”

“I know it comes as a surprise to all of you,” Corvus’ expression doesn’t change, “but I have my reasons for this decision. His only request was to be working with Team Akuta."

“B-But he tried to kill us!” Rudo finally snaps, pointing his finger at the now ex-raider, “He almost killed Gris once and sent Zanka straight to the hospital several times!”

The last part was unnecessary, Zanka thinks grimly, a scowl forming on his face.

“So did Amo, Rudo, as did Fu.” Corvus interjects, and it’s enough to leave Rudo speechless, “We let them be part of Enjin’s team despite their initial murderous intent and the repercussions it followed per your request.”

“But s’not the same!” He whines. “Amo is different!”

Enjin grabs Rudo by the shoulder, silencing him at the touch. His eyes meet Corvus’ as he pulls the younger one behind him and approaches the desk with careful steps.

His expression doesn’t give away his thoughts, but Zanka wants to believe he’s known Enjin long enough to recognize the small twitch on his eyebrow and the tight grip on his umbrella as nothing but shit bout’ to go down.

“I’d like to have a word with you, boss, if you don’t mind.” His eyes land on Jabber, “Alone.”

Corvus nods, raising a hand and motioning for the rest of them to leave the office.

Rudo huffs indignant, ready to open his mouth to throw whatever insult his mind conjures up on the go. But Zanka knows better than to fall into Enjin’s or Corvus’ wrath and grabs Rudo by the back of his uniform, dragging him out of the room with Jabber and Riyo behind them and throwing him on the hallway.

“The fuck was that for?!” Rudo is quick on his feet when the doors close behind them, hands balling into fists on his sides. Zanka can’t help but sigh and flick his forehead to silence his yelling.

“Don’t think I’m not annoyed ‘bout this shit,” Zanka says through clenched teeth, glaring at Jabber. The other acts nonchalantly, leaning against the wall and head cocked to the side as he eyes him shamelessly, “The boss better have a good explanation or else I’m taking action.”

Jabber laughs low and dangerously— the kind of laughter that elicits a shudder down Zanka’s spine. It’s the sound that often haunts his nightmares and surges a feeling of desperation and anger coursing through his veins with the need to make something hurt.

“Think this is funny, huh?” Zanka poises in front of Rudo, a scowl visible on his face, “Think ya can come strollin’ round’ and beg to be buddy n’ buddy with us you shit sucker?”

The other clackles excitedly, eyes shaping into crescent moons, “Oh~ Keep talking dirty to me, my dear Zan-Zan,” Jabber swoons, hugging himself, “Am already here, aren’t I?”

Zanka’s eyelid twitch in annoyance, “Not for long if I make sure of it.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Mr. Bad attitude.”

A hand tugs his sleeve as he’s about to bring to life his Lovely Assistaff, stopping him mid-step as he throws a dirty look over his shoulder.

Riyo looks at him amused, a smirk tugging her lips as she pulls him back. 

“Calm down, Zanka,” she soothes gently, patting his arm. Zanka is reminded of a parent quieting their child and the thought makes him angrier, “Can’t let you murder anyone, remember? Enjin wouldn’t approve of that and would be very disappointed if he knew his favorite partner became a murderer."

His shoulders tense at the mention of his senior to later relax at her words. The scowl doesn’t leave his face as Riyo takes a step back to stand next to Rudo who sports the same constipated expression as Zanka. She seems satisfied with herself, crossing her arms as she looks at Jabber with curiosity but remains silent.

None of them says anything as they wait outside Corvus’ office. Not even Jabber makes a sound, too content by simply observing them from a distance and having a staring contest with Zanka.

It is not after a few more minutes that Enjin exits the office noticeably pissed and a childish pout adorning his lips.

“Well?” Zanka approaches him, hope in his eyes. 

Much to his dismay, Enjin doesn’t look at him and avoids his question completely to face Jabber. The man was standing tall and proud, smirking as if he knew the answer to his fate already.

“Welcome to the team Akuta, Jabber.”

Oh, fuck him.

It comes off as a surprise when Jabber’s first mission is assigned with Rudo and Amo.

Zanka, more than anyone, is the most worried once Corvus sends them off to Canvas town to meet up with Remlin and the mayor. Something about the graffiti she wanted to amend as an apology and wanting to give it to Rudo for everyone's benefit.

“Shouldn’t I be the one going then?” Zanka’s mouth runs before thinking, “She did me dirty last time.”

“I thought you forgave the kid back then,” Corvus walks toward the front desk, delivering papers to Semiu who takes them gingerly, “Do you still hold grievances towards them?”

Zanka shakes his head, “N-No, I don’t, is just…” he slouches over, hand tugging the fabric of his gloves. “I-I think I’d have been a better fit to keep Rudo company instead of…Jabber...”

An arm loops around his shoulders and Zanka has the time to swallow his not-so-manly shriek as he realizes it is Enjin’s appearing with a booming laugh. His cheeks burst with color at the closeness and intimacy it brings, and Riyo makes note of it when she leans in to look at his face.

“Awww, Zanka is worried about his juniors,” Enjin pinches his cheek playfully. Zanka makes a sound akin to choking. “Who would have thought Zanka was soooo caring, yeah?”

“He’s red.” Riyo says as a matter of fact.

Zanka pushes her face away, too embarrassed to even say something in retribution.

Laughing heartedly, Corvus claps Zanka’s back in reassurance, “You don’t have to worry about anything. I’m sure Rudo and Amo will be able to deal with Jabber if anything goes south.”

The words are meant to calm him down, but Zanka feels like it is not enough cuz Jabber is involved. And anything Jabber is involved means fights and death. 

Enjin doesn’t seem bothered by Rudo leaving, nor does Riyo, so maybe he is the one losing his marbles about something that is under control. 

“If it makes you feel better I used my Jinki on Jabber when he first arrived. There was nothing out of the ordinary than his prowess at handling big amounts of poisons and the relatively slow paced way his body is deteriorating with said amount.” Semiu says nonchalantly, turning the page of her magazine. “Besides, you can’t enter Canvas town if you have bad intentions. The kids will be okay.”

Corvus smiles and nods in her direction, Semiu only grunts as an answer.

Enjin lets go of his shoulder, much to Zanka’s dismay and relief, and ruffles his hair, “See? Nothin’ to worry bout’, Zanka.”

He hopes that’s true.

“Seein’ as you have time to mop aroun’, we’ve gotten a request at a town on the south,” Semiu extends a stack of papers towards Zanka, “The people living ‘round have been disturbed by what they call: a lousy and fast trash beast. It has made them evacuate the town for safety reasons.”

Zanka takes the papers with a frown. The prospect of having his only free day chasing after trash beasts doesn’t sound promising.

“Do I have to go alone?” He asks.

“You can take either Follo or Gris, both are available. Have Enjin or Riyo accompany you too.” And with that, she returns to her magazine.

Corvus sighs with a smile tugging the corner of his mouth and waves them goodbye as he retreats into his office. 

Zanka doesn’t move at first, rooted in place, and the folded mission papers held loosely in one hand. He muses over his options, over who has enough skills to navigate through terrified masses of people and has enough patience and kindness towards those in need—’cuz he knows he won’t be enough. 

“I’m going to bring Gris,” he decides, nodding to himself. He’s the most level headed amongst the cleaners and will cover what he lacks.

“On it,” Semiu answers as she taps her collar once, then twice, and calls for Gris to get ready for a mission in ten minutes.

Enjin's jaw tightens instantly.

“Okay,” he mutters, and straightens. “I’m out.”

Riyo’s eyes flit to him quickly, “Enjin—”

“No.” He raises a hand before she can finish. “I said I’m out.”

Zanka looks at him slightly confused, “You sure?”

Enjin’s nostrils flare in irritation, but Zanka knows it’s not directed at him—or so he hopes. 

His whole demeanor changes in a second, more guarded and stiff it looks unnatural on him, “I don’t feel like bleeding out in the middle of a fight while Gris ignores me and leaves me to die.”

Zanka studies him, brow furrowing, “Gris is not going to sabotage the mission, Enjin, he’s not like that and never will.”

“...you don’t know that.”

Zanka squints his eyes as he’s caught by surprise by Enjin’s childish behaviour in the matter.

Riyo shifts slightly, “You could still go and keep your distance. It’s a wide town, ya know?”

Enjin laughs once, humorless, “Would rather quit smoking than spend an hour in a car with him.”

Riyo deadpans, “You know that would make Gris happy though.”

“Then I’m smoking thrice today just to piss him off.”

Zanka watches him for a long beat, unable to piece a whole image of the issue Enjin has against Gris since they’ve always been awfully close.

“All right.” Zanka says, coming to terms he won’t know anytime soon. “I’ll bring Riyo with me.”

Enjin nods once, stiffly, and then turns and walks away without looking back.

The door to the resting area closes behind him with a soft, unceremonious click.

Riyo exhales quietly. Her shoulders drop a little as she begins walking away; probably to her room to gear up.

Zanka glances her way, following in her steps, “Spill, what do ya know?”

She grimaces.

“The whoooole thing,” she says, clearly irritated. “Gris has been pulling away since the last time Enjin went to town to, and I quote, ‘look for women to hang out with’ after they fought.”

Zanka gasps, “He didn’t!”

“Oh yes, the bastard did.”

They reach Riyo’s room as they gossip. She moves quickly around her space, slipping on her mask and fastening her scissors to her pouch, and gives a small nod once she’s satisfied with her items.

“Gris said Enjin doesn’t know how to compromise. It’s gotten worse when they started their uhh, whatever the heck they have. Relationship? Friends with benefits? No idea. Enjin says Gris is never straight forward with what he wants from him and that he can’t change habits just because he wants to.” She shrugs, voice even. “If that’s all true, they’re both idiots, but I’m blaming Enjin for being stupid and going out of his way to make it harder for Gris.”

Zanka leans against the wall, tipping his head back. “Gris could have ended Enjin without witnesses if he were to come. I wouldn’t have stopped him.”

“A perfect disaster,” Riyo comments playfully.

He sighs, “Thank god you’re coming then.”

Riyo smiles, “I figured you might need the distraction after the whole Jabber thing.”

“Don’t even mention him. His name alone could summon him out of nowhere.” Zanka shakes his head as a sour expression pulls on his face, “Anyway, I hope yer ready for a quiet long ride. I won’t pry into Gris' business, and I don’t think he’d open up. It's gonna be kinda tense.”

“I know when to not snoop around. I don’t want to make Gris uncomfortable, either. Tension or not, it ain’t something I’m not used to.” She stands slowly. “Besides… you might need someone who will talk. Even if you don’t want to.”

Zanka smirks faintly, “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

She returns it. “No promises.”

He pushes off the wall, folding the papers before tucking it into his pocket.

“Alright. Let’s get moving,” he says. “Hopefully everything goes well.”

It didn’t.

Zanka should have been more aware and paid attention when they first arrived, but nothing could have prepared him for something beyond a normal mission.

The entrance of the town should have been the first warning that something was off.

There were no barricades around; either built up or destroyed to know the severity of the situation. No signs, no people, not even the name of the town could be understandable on the rusty signboard they walked past in search of anyone to talk to. 

As the air thickens, Gris is the one who motions them to wear the full gear if the situation gets out of control and to prevent any accident from happening.

“There is no one here,” Gris says through the chokers, “I don’t think anyone has inhabited any of these houses in a long time, either.”

Riyo cleans one of the windows of a two-story building with the back of her hand and tries to look through the clouded glass, “Can’t see shit.” She announces after a while.

Zanka rolls his eyes at her attempt. Gris approaches him.

“Zanka, are you sure this is where we’re supposed to go?” Riyo walks further down the desolated street where the fog was heavier, Zanka could barely make out her silhouette, “Semiu’s report said the civilians were nearby, but we haven’t met anyone yet.”

“The report clearly said they had to evacuate ‘cuz of the attacks,” he replies. “But it never said where they went.”

“This is kinda creepy,” Riyo mutters, “like a ghost town but without the ghosts.”

“As if you believe in that crap.”

“I have to entertain myself with somethin’,” she replies laughing. 

Zanks walks deeper into the street with Gris by his side, trailing after Riyo’s footsteps and high alert for any movement or monster lurking in the shadows. 

They reach the border of a cliff the further they go as the fog dissipates and gets easier to see. Zanka watches with careful steps down at the bottomless pit, mussing under his breath if the trash beasts were stupid enough to fall to their death and that’s the only reason the town was too quiet.

“I think Semiu messed up the information." Riyo says after a while.

Zanka shakes his head, “No chance. She’s too meticulous whenever we get requests for clearance.”

She sighs, “Well, the other good guess is this being a prank, not the first time it happens. I don’t think we got anything to do here with no leads.” 

The darkness that consumes the bottom pit doesn’t give the answers he hopes to find in the desolated town. With no more information nor people to talk to, or trash beasts to fight, their job was seemingly done, “Suppose yer right, Riyo. Let’s get back to the van and call Semiu for more information,” When Zanka turns around he finds no one behind him.

“Riyo?” No answer, only the echo of his voice repeats back, “Gris?!”

The silence that follows is unnerving, too loud except for his own heavy breathing. No voices, no footsteps, nothing to guide himself back to the entrance to the town as he trails further back the streets he believed he walked once. Even with his power imbued on Lovely Assistaff, Zanka couldn’t pinpoint the exact location of Riyo nor Gris, assuming they were still nearby, and was starting to become antsy with so much quietness.

A trash beast?, he thinks, eyes surveying the surroundings. 

No. No creature like that has the power to create illusions nor act so stealthily without any of them noticing it. 

A human being? Maybe, but the same logic would apply. 

A giver, perhaps.

Zanka has been left alone to his devices and Jinki. He wasn’t defenseless per se, but not knowing what was out there put him at a big disadvantage.

“Nijiku Zanka,” A deep and velvety voice talks somewhere behind him, “where is Jabber?”

The blonde swings Assistaff with enough force to bend and break in two the rusty pole that it collides against. His fingers flex around the handle of his Jinki, exhaling a breath he was holding as he recomposes and looks around in caution.

Not a minute passes when the fog disperses out of the section he’s standing idle at and finally sees the culprit walk forward from the nothingness.

“You’re the leader of the Raiders,” Zanka recognizes, “where are my companions?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that question?” the other replies calmly. 

“Like hell I know.”

Zodyl keeps walking towards him, “Where is Jabber?”

“I don’t know.”

In the blink of an eye Zodyl disappears from his vision. Zanka's grip on Lovely Assistaff tightens considerably as he readied his stance to fight. He has not fought another raider besides Jabber and, beyond what Rudo has told them about Zodyl’s vital instrument being the coat he wears, the disproportional disadvantage at the lack of information will cost him.

“Liar.” 

Pain blooms from his back at that moment. The next second his body is being thrown across the street and collides against a deteriorated building. The bricked wall crumbles on top of him violently as the floor shakes under his feet. He can’t help but cough to catch his breath when pieces of debris fall right into his head.

“I’m going to ask one more time,” Zodyl’s voice resonates as Zanka tries to incorporate, “where is Jabber?”

What do I answer?, he thinks in panic. Zanka’s weight falls onto Lovely Assistaff as he fixes the mask on his face. That Jabber joined the cleaners?

But what’s the real story behind his recruitment? None of them dared ask Corvus the story of how an ex-raider approached him to join their sides out of the sudden without good reason. Nor did he ever think it would be handy to have that information beforehand. 

Unless…

“You sent him.” Zankas says as realization dawns upon him. Zodyl stops on his tracks, cocking his head to the side. “This was all planned by you raiders, wasn’t it?!”

“The ambush we did set it up,” He answers truthfully. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Jabber Wonger! You sent that fuckin’ sicko for intel, didn’tcha?!” Lovely Assistaff springs to life in a fit of anger, “I fuckin’ knew something was off! I shouldn’t have trusted boss's intuition!”

A second of silence, “Jabber is with the cleaners?”

Zanka’s anger sizzles out at the genuine sound of confusion on Zodyl’s voice, like it’s brand news for him.

“You sent him…” he says, disbelief in his voice. "Didn't you?”

Zodyl stands still for a long minute without answering that it starts to unsettle him. A bead of sweat runs down his neck, not knowing what to expect or whether to attack and flee in search of his companions. The raider had said they planned an ambush but for what goal?

“I must apologize,” Zodyl’s offensive stance changes suddenly. He pats his arms, brushing away the dust covering his coat, as he keeps talking in the same calming tone, “I was under the impression the situation was slightly different.”

Raising a hand, Zodyl snaps his fingers once before manholes open up right next to him. Two bodies fall right above another, and Zanka has to stop himself from lunging forward once he notices the bodies are from Riyo and Gris covered in an alarming amount of blood that was now pooling up under them.

Lovely Assistaff rumbles beneath his fingertips with the urge to hurt. A vein is noticeable on the hand gripping her, the only sign to show he’s holding himself back in hopes to find answers and be able to retreat his comrades safely without any more disturbances.

He feels weak under the scorching and disinterested gaze of Zodyl, as if he were nothing but a bug on his way to victory. Zanka knows the wide gap between their powers and Jinki’s abilities and it brings a sense of shame because if it were any other than him, they would have fought Zodyl with ease and not freeze up when presented with a wild card as his friends being held hostages. 

“We must take leave,” Zodyl announces as he turns around and begins walking into the fog. It gives the blonde a whiplash from being let go so easily, “This won’t be the last time we see each other. But be warned if Rudo Surebrec is within your company, I won’t hesitate to rely on murder.”

The manholes disappear as if they weren’t there to begin with, and Zodyl disappears through the thick fog with slow but steady steps.

Zanka has to wait with batted breath as he counts the seconds from the moment Zodyl leaves and Lovely Assistaff helps him locate the other raiders. But the time stretches and blurs, each heartbeat louder than the last, that his vision unfocuses with how much power he is imbuing on his Jinki. 

He doesn't know if he's waiting long enough or too long—doesn’t know if he's safe or seconds from Zodyl changing his mind and coming back to end them at once. 

Then, finally, the vibrations fade.

He runs.

His legs barely function as he stumbles into motion with wild, clumsy urgency. His boots slip on the dusty floor, nearly sending him sprawling but regaining momentum to end up kneeling beside his friends.

Zanka carefully peels Riyo away from Gris, looking every inch of their bodies as he lays them more comfortably on the floor and eyes widening when he realizes the blood is coming from them in big and worried amounts.

It coats his shaky hands as he examines them. Warm and slick, he feels like he’s going to puke from the sight alone.

There is blood oozing from Riyo’s mask as bruises decorate her skin in purplish and red splotches. The majority of her fingers were broken, twisted in ways it shouldn’t be and crooked cuts that beg to think what could have done this much damage. She was breathing raggedy, but seemed stable for most of the part.

The same couldn’t be said about Gris.

Gris was torn open just above the stomach, a gaping wound that looks like something tried to dig its way in and unforgiving. The blood being darker, heavier and thick like tar made him gag as he pressed his hand to it to stop the bleeding. But it just kept coming, soaking through his sleeves. Gris’s chest barely rises, each intake of breath he takes gets slower and harder to notice, his mind blanks as he struggles to come to a decision of what to do. 

Zanka shakes his head, muttering, “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” as panic takes over his brain and shaky limbs.

I can’t, he thinks, a thin layer of tears gathering on his lower lashes. Zankas snarls in frustration, biting his lip in hopes to stop his tears from fully forming. I can’t break down here…not now, I can’t.

He taps the wristband on his left hand with the top of his head, his brain searching for someone, anyone’s name to come up to his head to talk to and send help. Whoever capable of bringing Eishia within seconds if possible.

“U-Um, hello?” A voice comes through. “Zanka?” 

“Bring Eishia!” He cuts to the chase, panic blending in his voice. “Fu, this is an order, bring her NOW!”

Fu fumbles on the other side, confusion pitched against his other half, “W-Wait! Bring her where?!”

“I don’t fucking know!” His reply could be laughable if he weren’t in such a delirious situation, “Ask Semiu, but do it now, please!” 

His voice cracks under the pressure, and his hands shake, “Please, help them…”

Fu doesn’t answer and Zanka hopes that means the other is taking action already.

Time feels short as every second that passes is wasted in his anxiety starting to take root inside his chest. Zanka can feel under his fingertips their heartbeats flutter inconsistently every now and then, slipping from his grasp slowly, and constricting his chest until the air is hard to breathe.

“Z-Zanka…” Riyo’s voice comes muffled and raw. She reaches out to him slowly, her broken fingers dangling as she tries to grab him. Zanka’s breath gets caught on his throat as he meets her halfway, gently holding her by the palm with an almost tender care to avoid hurting her. “...it’s…okay…”

It’s not okay. None of this should have happened in the first place. 

Why here? Why them?

Jabber’s face flashes through Zanka’s mind with the echo of his laughter as Riyo passes out from exhaustion.

It's his fault.

He swears under his breath as he feels her arm go limp between his thin fingers. 

This is his fault. This is his fault. This is his fault.

Jabber is going to fucking die by his hands if either Riyo or Gris ends up dying on him, and then, after atoning for his sins and disappointment from his peers, he’s going to kill himself for letting them die without putting up a fight because he was too much of a weakling to face Zodyl.

A laugh echoes from somewhere outside the town, distant at first, then threading closer by the second. It wasn’t Jabber’s—thank God—but it was familiar enough that a dry, stupid wave of relief washes over him. It hits him suddenly and full force, and he can’t help but succumb to darkness as Eishia’s scream cuts through the air.

Chapter Text

There is a light above his head, faint and out of reach, from a tiny hole hovering and shining down on him so brightly and warm it prickles his skin.

Zanka thinks with quiet contemplation and drifting mind, back laid against a bricked wall and Lovely Assistaff resting on his lap, about the course of decisions he’s made to land him at this very moment.

Thinking brings memories, it brings echoes of voices that he has long forgotten for his well-being, but also, it makes him ache for the what-ifs.

The light shifts every so often, giving the feel of the day passing by like a blur, and shapes with humanoid forms peek over the hole to watch him with curiosity before getting bored and moving on.

It angers him how dismissive they are to his struggle, unable to make an effort to reach out to him or ask if he needs a hand—not like he would accept, his pride wouldn’t let him— and wonders if his existence inside this place was only meant to be a display of his weakness. A way to demonstrate to others not to end up like he did.

Like a mess.

A disappointment.

Zanka can’t deal with the weight of their gazes, with their complicit silence as they tear him apart in their minds and judge him without knowing his story.

Closing his eyes, he lets the darkness consume him as he hugs his legs close to his chest and cradles Lovely Assistaff between his arms with as much love as he can muster for her.

“But I—!”  

“F-Fu, please—!”

Zanka opens his eyes slowly. 

He’s not met with the yellow-tinged sky or the cold ground where he remembers collapsing, but instead the roof of a familiar car in wild motion. 

A sharp ringing fills his ears as nausea churns in his gut. He blinks hard, blaming his brain for lagging behind as he pushes himself up, scanning the chaos around him.

The first thing he sees is Fu behind the steering wheel, driving the jeep like a drunk person.  He twists in his seat just enough to catch Zanka’s reflection in the rearview mirror and grins. 

“Zanka is awake!” Fu shouts relieved.

“E-Eyes on the road, please!” Eishia clutches her seatbelt like her life depends on it; which, at this point, it probably does. Fu swerves around a boulder with terrifying confidence as she yelps terrified, “T-There is a path, Fu, p-please follow it, I beg of you!”

“Where is Riyo?” Zanka croaks, throat dry.

Eishia gulps, nerves written all over her face, and gestures toward the back. “T-They’re lying down.”

Fu yelps, confused by left and right again and Zanka hears Eishia whispering a prayer.

“I did what I could,” she murmurs, guilt creeping into her voice. “I’m sorry I couldn’t fully heal them.”

He sees the back seats folded flat to give Riyo and Gris space to lie down. Both are buckled and maskless, and a wave of relief washes over him when he notices them breathing still.

The second thing Zanka notices are Riyo’s fingers mercifully back to normal, though each joint still bears deep purple splotches as remnants of the injury, it’s good to know she won’t feel pain. Not the same could be said about her arms and legs still sporting greenish bruises fading in slow gradients. But the deeper gashes have already disappeared beneath the surface of her skin, only leaving dry blood; he has to thank Eishia’s healing touch for having taken care of the worst of it.

Zanka lets the sentimental part of himself take control. He’s too exhausted, too raw after nearly losing someone he considers important. His hand hovers just above her cheek, unwilling to touch the bruises but drawn close all the same. The tension in his jaw betrays the twist in his heart as he studies her face, drawn and shadowed by fatigue. She’s alive. But the cost is written in every small twitch of discomfort she makes, every line of pain that still clings to her brow.

Eishia must have prioritized the life-threatening wounds to keep them stable until they were back to the headquarters for a safer procedure. But knowing the logic behind it doesn't make it easier to look at her.

His gaze shifts toward Gris, and his stomach flips at the sight. The knot in his throat tightens when his eyes roam Gris’ injuries.

The gaping hole above his stomach was barely closed, skin seemingly stitched together but alarmingly inflamed. Every breath Gris takes is shallow, a faint rise and fall that seems to barely stir his chest. His skin has the pallor of someone who’s lost too much blood, his lips tinged blue at the edges, and expression pulled taut.

“There was no energy in the town.” Eishia mutters, eyes downcast, “probably enough to fix what was broken and stabilize them, but I couldn’t do more for them…”

“You did a lot more than I could,” Zanka answers truthfully, relief in his voice. “Thank you, Eishia. And thanks to you too, Fu, for bringing ‘er.”

Fu’s eyes get misty at the sincerity of Zanka’s voice, lips trembling in contained emotion that he lets go of the steering wheel to wipe the tears away and the jeep starts swerving wildly.

Zanka hits his head with the ceiling when Fu, in an attempt to re-route the car, hits a pothole on the floor that sends most of them sprawling around at the violent movement.

“Wha— Who fuckin’ taught you to drive like that?!” Zanka groans while nursing his head. He holds onto the seats when Fu tries to turn around a tight corner between big piles of trash, “Fuckin’ revoke yer rights!” 

“I-I don’t know how to drive!” 

Gravity vanishes beneath them as the jeep sails into the air, suspended in a moment of terrifying stillness as realization dawns on each of them. Eishia’s face whitens as Zanka’s face, smushed against the window, watches in horror the steep mountain descent that Fu has driven them through.

“I’m sorry!”

That’s the last thing they hear before the world falls under them.

Zanka has experienced death twice today.

The first time he felt death crawling into his bones it was through Zodyl. One look, just a single soul-piercing gaze, was all it took to freeze Zanka in place and strip away his will to render him helpless. It wasn’t just power that held him there; it was terror. The kind that sinks its teeth deep, fed by the knowledge that Zodyl had his friends in his grasp and the sheer, suffocating uncertainty of what he might do next.

What could a mediocre like him possibly do against a force like that? A god among monsters, wielding power meant for a genius. That was the moment Zanka realized just how vast the gap truly was between the Raiders and himself. 

Maybe that’s why he was the only one who lost his fight against Jabber back then. Not because he was weak, which he is, but because he finally understood how insignificant he really was.

The second time was almost laughable if it hadn’t nearly killed him. Fu, behind the wheel of a car he clearly had no idea how to drive, turned what should’ve been a simple return into a chaotic death ride, dragging five lives along for lack of critical thinking. As if watching Zanka spiral into self-loathing wasn’t enough, Fu had to go the extra mile: almost sending him to an early grave.

“But you have come safe and sound.” Corvus reiterates. Zanka abstains from rolling his eyes ‘cus only the boss could see the bright side of things, “Thanks to your quick thinking both Riyo and Gris are being taken care of just in time.”

“U-Um…sir?” Fu raises his hand timidly, “D-did I do good?”

“Of course you did, Fu. Two of our most important members are being treated because you managed to get Eishia in time.” Corvus smiles, nodding, “I’ve been quite intrigued by how you were able to reach them so quickly, though. Mind telling me about it?”

Zanka has been asking himself the same thing since getting back to the headquarters. 

Only a beast, or a giver who was prone to having a vital instrument who could help them with movement or teletransportation, was able to pull off such a feat. 

Fu was none of those things, so it begs to question what it was?

“Oh, it was thanks to Hii.”

Corvus leans in, curiosity brimming from his eyes, “How so?”

“Zanka ordered me to bring Eishia, and Hii did the rest.” Fu fumbles with the cuffs of his jacket, a nervous habit he’s picked up while staying with the cleaners. “D-don’t worry, I tried to be careful when carrying lady Eishia. I know she is important.”

“Interesting.”

Satisfied with the information, Corvus dismisses Fu’s presence. 

“Tell Jabber to come in, please.” the boss asks. Fu nods eagerly, jumping out of the room with a peppy step after the praise.

“I thought Hii was able to enhance his strength, not give him inhuman speed.” Zanka looks at the door. “Unless Fu has lied to us.”

“We don’t know the full picture of how Fu’s cursed doll works and what it's capable of. Nor determine whether his own flesh is his vital instrument or Hii’s.” Corvus leans against his chair, a pensive expression crossing over his features, “We will have to test it out. Mind having another pupil under your wing?”

Zanka shakes his head, “With all due respect, no. Rudo is enough trouble. Besides, I think Fu favors Enjin more than anyone here and might be more comfortable working with him.”

Corvus laughs under his breath, “That’s certainly an answer. I’ll talk with Enjin and see what he says.”

“Knowing him, Enjin is going to try to bag Fu to someone else.” Zanka sighs tiredly, “Sir, I’d like to take my leave now if you don’t mind.”

“I’d love to let you take a rest after today’s work. But I must ask you to stay.” Corvus seems apologetic.

Confused, Zanka raises a brow, “What for?” 

“The situation has changed drastically with Zodyl’s appearance. With Jabber on our lines, this won’t be the first nor the last we see of the raiders if they insist on getting him back.” The boss sighs, “You have to explain to Jabber what happened.”

The office door swings open without so much as a knock, and in strolls Jabber, a cocky grin plastered across his face.

Zanka’s breath catches in his throat.

Gone are the tattered rags Jabber used to wear as a raider and replaced by the unmistakable uniform of the Cleaners. From his hair tied back into a high ponytail with loose dreads framing his long, sharp-featured face, to the tailored jacket and a fucking crop-top stretched across his chest hugging his figure. The whole look renders Zanka momentarily speechless as his eyes go from head to toe, and back again to his head. 

Jabber struts across the room like he owns it, coming to a halt right beside him with a knowing smirk.

“Take a picture, Zan-zan, it’ll last longer,” Jabber says with a giggle, biting his lower lip with mock seduction. “Unless you’d rather just stare. I don’t mind, sweetheart.”

Zanka’s hands curl into fists. He weighs the urge to stay professional against the more tempting option of punching the man square in the jaw, and with good reason. A vein throbs visibly at his temple when Jabber takes his silence as embarrassment and laughs at him.

 Corvus sees this as his cue to intervene.

“Jabber,” he says evenly, “Zodyl has come looking for you. I believe Semiu has let you catch up with what happened.”

“Ah, yeah, they were attacked, right?” He side-eyes Zanka, “What happened, Zan-zan, couldn’t beat a few raiders again?”

“Son of a—”

“Enough.” Corvus’ booming voice cuts through the tension with that single word. “Zanka will talk now, Jabber, and I need you to listen to him carefully. After he’s done, tell him the reason you’ve left the raiders.”

Jabber’s smirk vanishes in an instant.

“Hahhhh? I thought we agreed my business was confidential.”

“And I intend to keep it that way,” Corvus replies calmly, arms crossing over his chest. “That’s why it won’t be coming from me what he learns here.”

A heavy silence falls.

The man who once entered like a whirlwind now stands eerily still. Whatever manic energy Jabber had been exuding moments ago is gone and replaced by a cold, unreadable stare locked on Corvus. The quiet version of Jabber is far more unnerving than the loud one, and Zanka feels his skin prickle with unease.

Jabber turns to him slowly, his lips pulled into a tight frown, and magenta eyes shadowed beneath a fall of dark dreads.

“Well then,” he says softly, voice devoid of any teasing edge, “talk. What do you need to say?”

There’s plenty he has to say to the bastard. But Corvus is watching, and Zanka refuses to let his pride crack under pressure and make a scene in front of Jabber of all people. He forces his voice to stay neutral as he speaks.

“Zodyl attacked us when we were deployed for assistance to a town down south.” He begins, each word sharpened by barely restrained anger. “It was an ambush from the start. They had the wrong idea that we had something to do with your disappearance because Zodyl was looking for you.”

His voice lowers, venom slipping into every syllable, “It’s your fault Riyo and Gris were hurt.”

Simmering inside his heart is a bubbling anger, scalding and volatile, and ready to burst at any second. Zanka has half the mind to stop himself from attacking Jabber as he continues talking.

“Do you know what Eishia said?” The question is meant to be rhetoric, “Riyo had a lung bursted because someone used her as a punching bag when she tried to get back to us, does that ring any bell with any of your raider friends? ”

“Oi, oi, that does sound like Cthoni, hah,” Jabber has the audacity to laugh, “ She’s got insane power in those fists, don’t let ‘er Jinki fool you. ‘Cause even I have trouble sparring with ‘er without ending up fucked.”

“You fucking bastard—!”

“Enough, Zanka.” 

Corvus, in the blink of an eye, grabs Zanka’s wrist before his fist collides against Jabber’s face. The blonde gasps, surprised at the sheer velocity of the boss, before snatching his hand away from his grasp and taking a step back in shame.

Fuck, he thinks, eyes downcast and a frown noticeable on his face, I lost my temper.

“I understand your frustration and worry about your companions, Zanka, I really do. But please don’t forget we don’t sort this type of punishment. Not by our hands, understood?”

Like a kid being reprimanded, Zanka only opts to nod, not meeting either of them gazes. Corvus sighs loud enough to make the blonde flinch but doesn’t say anything.

“Well, can I speak or do I gotta wait for another attempt?” Jabber smiles toothily, head cocking to the side, “Not that I mind, Zan-zan, I like it when it hurts.”

“To the point, Jabber,” Corvus intercepts.

Groaning, Jabber sticks his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“Zodyl is losing his mind,” he begins. “After what happened to Momoa and the information broker, he has been changing…oddly.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Jabber expresses internal conflict, not finding the words to explain it clearly, “Zodyl is strong, stronger than anyone else, but the man is no longer himself with how impatient he is getting. His goal to bring down the Sphere is getting all tangled in his head and I don't wanna deal with his psychological shit.” 

Zanka frowns at that, “So you left, just like that? Who says you won’t change sides just because you changed your mind?”

“I’m loyal, ya see,” Smirking, he walks closer to Zanka, “I’m loyal to those who earn my respect, to those who know how to beat the shit out of me and can keep up with me. Zodyl has done it once, but refuses to entertain me. Sadly, I’m not a fan of psychological welfare, so you can guess the loyalty has been shifting because I’ve gotten bored of him. Besides, I found someone better and crazier like me.”

The blonde has never noticed the difference in height between the two of them before, and now that he can feel Jabber’s breath fanning on his face as he stares down at him, Zanka has come to the realization that his eyes are hot pink, not magenta.

“I left the raiders for you, Zanka.”

Eishia sighs tiredly when the course of energy leaves her body through her fingertips right into Gris’ wounds.

Her eyes surveys the reddish skin around the now scarring mark on his torso as her fingers ghost over the faint cuts on his ribs. She ponders for a minute, cleaning the sweat above her brow, and lets the surge of energy come from her fingers again as she heals each cut with precision and carefulness.

It will take a toll on her, she knows as much, but Eishia needs him to heal and get better. It’s the least she can do, is all she can do.

The door to the infirmary opens loudly and with an aggressiveness the decorations on the wall shake on their hinges. Eishia startles as she cuts off her powers before something gets out of her control. Her fingers tremble as she checks Gris’ pulse on his wrist in case the dose of electricity fried something within him.

When she feels the faint pulse against her fingertips she lets out a breath of relief. 

“R-Riyo! Gris!” 

Eishia sees Rudo running from the door to the bed Riyo lays resting and recovering. Gloved hands hover above her arm as his eyes roam every patch of purple skin littering the expanse of her cheeks and throat in grotesque shapes.

Amo stands by the door, a nervous and worried expression on her face, hesitating between staying where she’s put or approaching them. When their gazes meet, she bows slightly.

“We came back as soon as we received lady Semiu’s call,” Amo says with a thin voice, walking quietly into the room. “How are they fairing?”

“I-I managed to fix Riyo’s lung and small cuts, but I can’t get the bruises to disappear. She’s okay now, but I wish I could have gotten rid of the marks.” Eishia kneels down to plug off the cord of her Jinki, “Gris’ status is harder to pinpoint, but at least he is going to be okay. He lost a big amount of blood and part of the bones of his ribs were crushed by an unknown force. A few of the bones missed puncturing important organs, so I managed to clean the wounds before closing it.”

“Who did this?”

Rudo’s question comes as a quiet whisper. 

His crimson eyes were ablaze with barely contained fury, the kind that makes Eishia’s stomach twist in nervousness. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen someone so openly, so dangerously angry. Most Cleaners kept their emotions tightly in check when situations like these happened: either when a comrade was hurt, or in the worst case scenario, they end up passing away.

But Rudo wasn’t most Cleaners.

She studied him in silence for a moment, trying to make sense of the storm brewing behind his clenched jaw and trembling hands. He looked like he was ready to tear through walls for answers and yet, there was no recklessness in his actions. Just pain. Controlled, but sharp and consuming pain.

Riyo had once told her that, despite his terrifying presence and those fierce eyes, Rudo was the kind of person who never forgot kindness. Anyone who’d treated him without prejudice, anyone who’d offered him a hand and understood his turmoil, whatever the case, is someone Rudo never forgets.

That’s why he fights so hard to protect the Cleaners while chasing after his goal. They’ve become his family in the short time he’s been on the ground. It was understandable that seeing them hurt, someone as close to him like Riyo or Gris, has to be a hard pill to swallow. 

“They were ambushed by raiders.” Eishia approaches Riyo’s bed, a downcast gaze upon her friend. “Someone sent a request with coordinates and Semiu sent Zanka alongside Riyo and Gris to the location. None of us could have known it was Klutess town where they were headed.”

“Klutess town?” Amo ponders about the name for a while, “Where is that?”

Eishia looks at her, “Oh, right, none of you were around to know what happened.”

Both look at her in confusion.

“Klutess town was one of the few first towns that was founded by the first givers on this land. They had to be evacuated many months ago because the polluted zone started expanding in its surroundings. It got worse when the trash rain began, and many died being crushed by the Sphere’s waste. Since then it has been a ghost town abandoned by its people.”

“No one checked before they left?” Amo asks out loud, “Is Zanka okay?”

“He got a concussion, but I already treated him before he left to speak with Corvus.” Eishia turns to look at Gris, “Enjin was the one who received us and helped bring Gris and Riyo. I don’t know where he is, but if you see him, please make sure he is okay. He seemed very affected.”

Rudo looks at her with a frown, “Does Jabber have anything to do with this?”

Voice caught on her throat, she answers anxiously, “I don’t know.”

Rudo doesn’t say anything at first, too caught up with his own thoughts and processing the meaning behind the attack to his friends. His red eyes roam Gris’ torso with quiet contempt and something akin to sadness swimming in his eyes. The anger subsided a while ago to leave a hollow hole on his chest where anxiety was settling in slowly. 

“Are they going to be okay?” his voice sounds so small, Eishia feels bad for him.

“B-Both are stable, Rudo. They are out of danger.” Eishia’s hands wrung together unconsciously as she watches him, “I wish I could have done more…”

“Amo believes you did your best, Eishia,” she smiles at her, “Amo is sure Riyo and Gris will be happy to know you healed them.”

Rudo shifts uncomfortably on the spot, “Where’s Enjin?”

“I-I think he went outside to have a smoke.” She hesitates, watching Rudo’s expression, then quickly adds, “I’ll go check on him if you wish.”

“No need, I will find him myself.”

Rudo takes a moment to look over his friends once more before turning around and walking away without another word. Once the door closes, Amo breathes a tired sigh before approaching the nearest chair next to Riyo to sit and accompany her.

“Amo can look over them if you’re tired, Eishia.” she says as she reaches for Riyo’s hand, “Lady Semiu told Amo you have been healing them for many hours and must be exhausted.”

She shakes her head, “It’s okay, it is part of my work to ensure they are okay.” 

“Do you mind if Amo keeps you company too?” 

Eishia sees the way Amo leans in to watch Riyo’s chest rise and fall, afraid that at any moment that could change, and realises she must have gotten scared for her friend.

“You can stay as long as you need, Amo.”

The courtyard is empty when Rudo steps out.

A soft hush hangs in the air as he surveys the quiet surrounding. The usual clatter of footsteps or voices is absent that evening, replaced by the faint rustle of hollow air and the distant noises of crows taking flight. If Enjin was out here, he certainly wasn’t making himself known.

Rudo walks further in until he’s standing in the middle of the open space, with no purpose in mind than to be outside the infirmary and medical smells. Although his mind keeps circling back to the paleness of Gris’ face and Riyo’s bruises relentlessly and uninvited, he needed to get out of there before he ended up lashing out at the wrong people.

There’s a weight in his chest that tightens with each breath he takes. It’s the same tightness he’d felt after his first fight with Amo; the feeling of anger, guilt, and helplessness all tangled into something too big to name. Something hot and sharp that won’t go away.

Rudo clenches his jaw when he realizes that he’s no different from that time if his feelings are still this fragile. It’s annoying and—

Thoughts come to a halt when he sees it: a faint glow.

High up, above one of the buildings surrounding the courtyard, a thin ribbon of smoke drifts into the night air in slow curves. The red tip of a lit cigarette flares briefly and his brain supplies one name: Enjin.

Without a word, Rudo walks toward the building, his footsteps heavy. When he reaches the stone wall he doesn’t hesitate as he grips the rough edges and begins to climb, hauling himself up with practiced ease until he reaches the top.

The rooftop is quiet when he approaches Enjin, the wind just a whisper up with all the quietness surrounding them. Enjin sits with one knee drawn up, the other leg stretched out in front of him and hanging into the void, and a cigarette pinched between his fingers. He’s facing away from Rudo, looking out over the horizon with a mournful gaze.

Rudo can feel it in the subtle shift of Enjin’s shoulders, in the way the man holds his breath for a second longer before exhaling smoke into the sky, that he has noticed his presence but has decided to play dumb. 

Enjin takes a slow, deliberate drag of his cigarette, then exhales, the smoke curling into the night air before drifting away. His eyes remain fixed onto the horizon beyond no man’s land, somewhere still and where life no longer exists. 

The quiet that stretches between them is heavy, so still it feels unnatural. It makes Rudo’s skin itch, nerves buzzing with the urge to almost reconsider going back to Amo and keep Riyo and Gris company.  

Almost reconsider.

Even if the air is thick with tension, even if Enjin won’t look at him, Rudo stays. Because if the roles were reversed, if he were the one mopping, sitting in silence, staring into nothing as his brain overthinks, he knows Enjin would’ve stayed, too. Just like the time Jabber almost killed Gris in front of him, and after everything was settled, the thought that Gris perished to his injuries became a heavy burden.

Back then, Enjin hadn’t offered many words, but it was enough to help him realize that he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. 

So now, Rudo hopes the same holds true for Enjin. That sitting here beside him, even in silence and not uttering a word, can serve as a comforting presence for him.

That he’s not alone, either.

“I like women who have strong personalities and nice bodies.”

Rudo startles when Enjin speaks. His voice sounds rough, raw, but Rudo doesn’t comment on it. 

“They’re easy on the eyes,” Enjin continues, “but also fun to talk to. Conversations with them are always more… interesting.”

He pulls another cigarette from his pocket but doesn’t light it, instead rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, distracted.

“But I also like men.”

The confession hangs in the air for a moment. Rudo doesn’t react much besides a side-eyes as he waits for him to keep talking. When Enjin turns slightly to gauge his response, he only gives a small nod as a way to let him know he’s listening. The corner of his golden eyes are a harsh red, as if he has attempted to rub the skin raw with completion. 

He’s been crying, Rudo realizes.

“I like them strong,” Enjin says, voice softer now. “Someone who could bench press me, but also has something else. Something that isn’t just physical strength. A charm of their own.”

Rudo shifts where he sits, “Like the boss?”

Enjin makes a face—an exaggerated grimace that, under different circumstances, would’ve made Riyo laugh out loud if she were here. The thought of it makes Rudo’s chest tighten.

“The boss is strong, sure,” Enjin mutters, “but definitely not my type.” He lets out a hollow, bitter laugh. “Remember Gob? The Giver from Canvas Town?”

“The one who passed away?”

Enjin’s mouth trembles, but he manages to hold his expression steady. “Yeah. Him. We used to be… more than friends, once upon a time.”

Rudo’s brows lift slightly. “You were married?”

“What?! No, no!” Enjin waves a hand, scandalized. “We were dating, okay? D-a-t-i-n-g. You know what that is?”

His voice goes impossibly high, and the outburst is so sudden it startles Rudo instead of making him laugh. At least it breaks the tension, if just a little.

Enjin exhales hard, shaking his head, “Listen, we dated for a while. It didn’t work out in the end but we stayed friends. Good ones at that.”

Rudo leans forward slightly, curious now, “Do you date everyone you like?”

“Not really,” Enjin replies with a shrug. “Most of the time, it’s just a one-night stand with no strings attached. Keep things simple.”

“So… why didn’t you do that with Gob?”

Enjin hesitates. There’s something soft in the way his features settle as he brings a hand to his neck.

“Because he was different,” he says, almost in a whisper. “He had a personality that could knock you off. Funny, whimsical and full of love. So much love to give to the world.”

He flicks his lighter and finally ignites the cigarette, taking a long drag before releasing a slow, weary sigh. Smoke drifts upward, catching in the wind.

“Separation is never easy,” he murmurs. “Especially when you fall in love that hard. And the other person…” His voice fades briefly. “They let go like it meant nothing.”

Rudo speaks gently. “Did you get bored of him?”

Enjin doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drops to the courtyard below, watching shadows shift across the stone as the night approaches.

“…He ended things,” he finally says. “Love’s a bitch when it wants to be. But I loved him enough to let him go despite wanting to keep him by my side forever.” 

He turns to Rudo with a crooked smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “See how that turned out.”

“I’m sorry,” Rudo murmurs.

Enjin slings an arm around his shoulders and tugs him closer, “What for? You didn’t screw up my relationship.”

Rudo shakes his head, “I meant Gris. You're like this because he got hurt, right?”

He feels Enjin stiffen beside him.

“He’s your boyfriend now, isn’t he?” Rudo cocks his head to the side, “You’re worried he might end up like Gob.”

“Wh—How do you—?”

“I thought it was obvious. At least, Gris is obvious, but so were you at times.”

Enjin, suddenly quiet, nudges him gently, “Tell me how.”

Rudo hums thoughtfully, his brow furrowed, “You’re expressive with your words and your face. It’s easy to tell what you’re thinking most of the time. Gris, though… he’s more reserved. He always has that same polite, careful expression, like he’s hiding behind it.” He pauses, then adds, “But not around you. When you’re near, he frowns more, laughs louder, and smiles without thinking; the real one. That look you had earlier, when you were talking about Gob? That’s the same look Gris has whenever he sees you.”

Enjin stares at him, speechless.

“Rudo,” he finally asks, “how do you know all this?”

“Riyo taught me to read people,” Rudo replies with a proud little nod, “She said most adults don’t know how to say what they really feel.” He adds after a beat, “She also says you’re all stupid sometimes.”

Enjin bursts out laughing, an unexpected, full-bodied laugh that almost knocks him off the ledge.

“She actually said that? That little rascal.” He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling. “Should’ve expected it from her, but what a hypocrite!”

“Are you mad?”

“Nah,” Enjin says, shaking his head with a grin. “On the contrary. I’m going to hold this over her forever for judging me so easily. You just wait”

Rudo’s expression softens. “I hope she wakes up soon.”

Enjin’s smile fades just a little. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

Their moment is cut short by a sudden, high-pitched metallic screech from behind from the rooftop door opening.

Zanka stumbles through a heap of limbs, barely keeping himself upright. His face is pale, dangerously close to the color white if it weren’t for the slight flush on his face contrasting against his skin.

Rudo immediately stands, heart racing with relief when he sees Zanka isn’t hurt and in good shape. But before either of them can speak, Zanka bolts past them—

—and jumps off the edge of the roof.

Rudo and Enjin watch everything in slow motion as Zanka, with his eyes closed and open arms, lets himself be taken by gravity.

Enjin reacts faster than Rudo by bringing out Umbreaker and jumping after him. He grabs Zanka by the waist and pulls him against his chest tightly as he opens his Jinki to slow their fall.

“Let me go!” Zanka struggles against Enjin’s hold as they descend slowly. His cheeks are an alarming red, “I’m fucking gonna kill myself!”

“Woah, woah! Calm down, man, what has gotten you so worked up?”

Zanka snarls at him, “None of your business!”

“Oh yeah?” Enjin says. “Fine. Fall, then.”

Enjin lets go of his waist and Zanka plummets down in flailing arms and a high pitched scream until he lands on piles of trash with a loud thud. “Careful because those are the bathroom waste! Mind the bugs!”

Zanka launches out of the bags like a man possessed, flailing and yelping as if something’s crawling up his spine. He slaps wildly at his sleeves, his legs, even his hair just in case as his face locks in pure panic. 

Enjin lands safely before tucking his Jinki under his arm. His smirk is evident as he takes another cigarette and lights it up and talks mockingly.

“Ohhh, I think I saw a cockroach in your jacket.”

“THE FUCK!” He immediately starts undressing, yanking his jacket off and shaking it violently as if it’s harboring a hidden colony of more insects. His boot flies off in the process and smacks the side of the wall.

Rudo, still watching from the rooftop, leans over the edge as he shouts, “Should we help him?”

Enjin glances up, grinning. “Nope. This is his karmic punishment for interrupting our heartfelt moment.”

“Oh my god, they’re in my pants, I know it-!”

“Please stop stripping in the courtyard,” Enjin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It was a joke.”

Zanka stops unbuttoning his shirt, eyes widened and caught off guard. He snarls angrily when he realizes he has made a fool of himself for no reason and begins dressing in sharp movements and muttering under his breath as he side-eyes Enjin.

The blonde smirks, “And now that that’s settled, mind telling me why was I about to have one less member on team Akuta with no permission?”

Rudo has made his way down by climbing the walls and grabbing onto ledges to land safely on the floor. He picks up Zanka’s boot that went flying in the midst of his panic and gives it back to him.

Zanka sits up again, brushing dirt from his pants with stiff, angry motions, and accepts the boot back. His expression is flat as ever, but there’s a tense energy rolling off him.

“I didn’t jump because I wanted to die, despite saying so,” he says coldly. “I jumped because Jabber finally explained why he joined us and now I don’t know what reality is anymore.”

Enjin flicks ash from his cigarette, interested, “This should be good.”

Rudo leans forward, “What did he say?”

Zanka’s jaw tightens, “The boss wanted to talk to me about the raiders attack and to tell Jabber that Zodyl is after him. And in exchange, Corvus made Jabber tell me the reason he left them to join our side, and do you fucking know what he said?! I left the raiders for you, Zanka, just like that! No context! As if we haven’t tried to kill each other before and this was our heartfelt moment!”

Enjin blinks, “He left them for you?”

Zanka nods once, sharply. 

“I asked him to clarify,” Zanka adds, on the verge of collapsing, “and he just smiled.” He lets out a slow breath, “He said: Does it matter? I’m here now. Just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

Enjin wheezes, “That’s either very sweet or deeply unsettling.”

Zanka snaps. “I don’t know if he’s confessing, or psychologically disarming me before he stabs me in the back when I least expect it. His tone was... neutral. Who says something like that with no inflection?”

Enjin scratches his cheek, slightly confused, “Maybe he’s just bad at expressing his feelings?”

Zanka barks a hollow laugh, “No. He’s perfectly capable at expressing feelings, he just prefers to express them through chokeholds, fight games and blood play like we’ve done before— Do you even listen to yourself?!”

“Hey, man, I’m just as lost as you are,” Enjin laughs, “Jabber, huh? I had my doubts, but this is not the outcome I expected from an ex-raider.”

He looks horrified, “I wish Corvus wouldn’t have let him in. Even when given the reason, I still find it hard to understand how that helps us. Now it’s in my head circling over and over like a hawk made of bad decisions and ready to shit on me if I even dare consider what he says for real.”

“You could just ask him if he’s messing with you.” Rudo offers, “Jabber’s brain is full of shit. Maybe he’s going off with some drug of his.”

Zanka gives him a long, withering stare, “I’d rather pluck splinter by splinter my Lovely Asisstaff with my bare hands than confronting him again.”

Enjin leans back, smirking. “So, what’s your plan now?”

Zanka exhales slowly, “Avoid him completely at all costs. From now on, I will take alternate routes, alternate missions, and possibly switch to another team.” He muses for a moment, “Do you think the team from the East will receive applications?”

“You do know he will be living in the same building as you, right?” Enjin deadpans. “And what, you’re gonna go back to the Hellguards and cross paths with your siblings?”

“Fuck no, you’re right, I’ll fucking move to the polluted zones. He won’t follow me there.”

“Zanka,” Enjin calls gently. “Have you considered rejecting his advances? Or are you considering his feelings for real?”

A long, dreadful silence follows. Then he answers with as much disgust as he can muster:

“He nearly killed me twice, Enjin, do you think I consider holding his hand as he tries to murder me again?”

Enjin nearly chokes on his cigarette with a laugh, “So you do like him.”

“Are you stupid or do you pretend to be? Which is it?”

“Sounds like his way of flirting to me.”

“It sounds like a threat to me.”

Enjin snorts. “Yeah. A sexy one in his eyes.”

Zanka stands up, “I’m going to take a long and cold shower as I reevaluate every decision I’ve ever made to end up in this situation and with you as my fucking leader.”

“And Jabber?” Rudo asks.

“If he says one more cryptic thing,” Zanka says flatly, “I will either kill him on the spot or shove a knife up his ass. I genuinely don’t know which because he will like both options.”

“That's the spirit,” Enjin grins. “Hopefully none of it happens.”

Chapter Text

Zanka has the same dream as always.

The light above his head, the hole where he is stuck, the audience alienating him.

Nothing ever changes.

Blinking away the dry tears, Zanka raises his head as shadows dangle over the borders from the only source of light he’s been allowed to receive. Something hollow settles in his chest as the shapeless forms laugh and point, and all he can do is stare helplessly.

They begin backing away as they eventually grow bored—some whisper insults, others throw stones down the hole, and few glare at him with disdain when none of their actions elicit a reaction out of him.

Lovely Assistaff thrums under his fingertips as he cleans a cut on his cheek with the back of his hand. The sharpest corner of one of the rebel rocks must have sliced his skin on the onslaught by accident, and as he stares at the smudged blood on his hand, he notices the pain is not registered at all.

The same empty feeling, the always present hostility, the routine of making a fool of himself and being paraded as an attraction doesn’t ever change.

Zanka thinks this is how it will always be. Being drowned by his own feeble thoughts as the rest of the world leaves him behind for not being enough.

Mediocrity at its best, that's who he really is.

But then, something disturbs the monotony he’s veiled himself in.

A humanoid head peaks, the distinguishable form of the head and hair are hard to miss as the figure crawls until he’s standing on the ledge of the hole.

Zanka’s never seen a shapeless figure take the form of a person in these dreams, even less someone he doesn’t recognize.

“Wait for me,” they say gleefully. The voice is distorted and muffled, but it nags something deep in his brain, a familiarity that doesn’t bring relief nor comfort.

The figure laughs loudly, maniacally so, that it sends shivers down his spine as realization hits him in the face.

“Here I come, Zanka!”

The unmistakable voice of Jabber.

Zanks wakes with a startled scream stuck on his throat.

Sweat sticks like a second layer on his skin while he sits and grows aware of his surroundings, eyes analyzing every inch of the space that is his bedroom until his brain relaxes at the familiarity of his personal space.

Lovely Assistaff rests beside his bed prompted against the wall, and he can’t help reaching out to her to ground his head and calm his hammering heart threatening to burst from his chest.

“M’fine,” he murmurs, “Just a dream.”

The remembrance of the dream slips from his fingers as soon as he tries to make sense of the meaning behind what he experienced. It ends up being futile as the wisps of images vanish from his mind, but the unsettleness doesn’t disappear with it.

Laying down onto the mattress, Zanka stares at the ceiling with the hopes to fall asleep once again. He waits a long time, eyelids growing heavy by the minute but unable to close them as his thoughts get louder and impossible to tolerate.

He tosses to one side, gets uncomfortable, and turns to the other hoping to conceal sleep. When he realizes nothing might help, Zanka decides to tire his mind until his body collapses from the exhaustion.

With a tired groan, the blonde stands from his bed and grabs a blanket from his chair to wrap around his body as he exits his room with quiet steps. 

There’s no sound, no light, except for the ones outside in the courtyard, faint and distant, barely reaching the upper floors where he resides once he steps out into the hallway. 

It must be very late at night if everyone was already asleep and tucked in bed instead of lounging around like they usually do until late hours of the night.

Oftentimes he wonders how the Cleaners have so much stamina after grueling missions that wring every last drop of energy from them, and then manage to wake up early the very next day and repeat the cycle.

Zanka sleeps early, wakes up later than everyone, and still feels like a corpse half the time as he learns how to function again each rise of the sun. Not being a morning person is his cross to bear, one he’s long tried to overcome, but it doesn’t help that he keeps waking up in the middle of the night, losing hours of rest he’ll never get back.

By the time Zanka snaps out of his thoughts, he realizes his feet have brought him to the courtyard on their own. 

A cold breeze hits him, and he flinches, pulling the blanket tighter around his frame as a sudden shiver crawls down his spine.

So much for getting back to sleep, he’s fully awake now and freezing like hell.

“Isn’t it late for you?”

He jolts with a sharp gasp, clutching his chest as he whips his head toward the voice.

The culprit is none other than Riyo sitting on one of the benches, grinning at him like she hasn’t just scared ten years off his life.

The redhead, who is smiling cheekily at him, waves a hand in the air as a greeting. She seems way too cocky for someone who almost got killed earlier that day, but Zanka has zero intentions on discouraging her the second he realizes she’s awake and well, irritation dying in his throat.

“Riyo—!”

“Shh!” she hushes him with a flick of her wrist, then pats the empty space beside her, “Sit, c'mon."

Zanka does as she says and wordlessly plops himself next to her with a bewildered look on his face. She must have noticed the worry on his expression and tension set on his shoulders as his eyes surveyed every patch of skin covered in small but colorful splotches of bruises.

“Doesn’t hurt anymore,” she says gently, poking at one in her forearm. “Okay, it does hurt, I lied.”

“Don’t do that,” he says as he smacks her hand away. “When did you even wake up?”

Riyo hums thoughtfully, “A couple hours ago, I believe. Laying down was starting to hurt and eventually got bored soooo here I am!”

“You should have called someone to check on you,” Zanka chastitises, frowning. 

“It’s alright, I bet poor Eishia was chained to our beds all day trying to bring Gris and I back to life.”

“Please don’t say that.”

Something in his voice fractures and is enough for Riyo’s whole demeanour to change in an instant. The smile is gone, and so is her vibrant energy to forward a more sorrowful one. Zanka regrets ever sounding so weak in front of her.

“M’sorry,” he says. Riyo shakes her head.

“No, no, I’m the one who should be sorry. We let our guard down back then, and it just…Listen, shit happens, none of us could have predicted an ambush, ya know?”

Zanka knows she’s right, but guilt isn’t something you can scrub off with a conversation after what they’ve been through. He doesn’t say anything, not because he disagrees, but because what else was there to say?

No one died, and that’s the only thing he’s clinging to.

They sit in silence for a while, simply watching the polluted clouds pass by as the sound of crickets in the background lulls them softly. The air is not cold anymore, but still chilly enough that Zanka burrows himself in the blanket.

Riyo glances over, “Cold?”

“A bit. It feels colder than most nights.” His gaze shifts to her bare arms, “Aren’t you cold?”

“I am, but it helps me stay grounded.” She pulls a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling slightly, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but being this close to death sort of changes perspectives wildly.”

“How so?”

“When I fought the woman with the manhole jinki I thought to myself: This shouldn’t be hard, I’ll be back in no time. But boy was I wrong!” She snorts at her own arrogance. “I tend to overestimate my enemies on the battlefield, a bad habit of mine for not respecting ‘em. And now it finally caught up to me.”

“She was fast, and stronger than me in every aspect. Teleporting everywhere and I couldn’t keep up.” Her voice cracks, “Never thought I’d get turned into a punching bag.”

Zanka mouth thins in a straight line, “Eishia said you had a lung bursted.”

“Figured.” she scoffs, bitter amusement curling her lips.“Felt like I was breathing fire, burning my insides. Hurt like hell.”

Zanka has never seen her like this: defeated and quiet. Riyo is often loud, confident, a wildfire with a voice and recklessness no one possesses. He hadn’t even considered how the fight had felt for her nor the repercussions now that she is awake, only that she survived and nothing else mattered.

“Anyway,” she says after a pause, voice lighter, "lesson learned: don’t assume your enemy’s weak just because they look like it.”

Zanka hums, a faint ghost of a smile paints his lips.

“So, you’re gonna tell me whatcha doing so late or do I have to pry the information bit by bit?” 

“Couldn’t sleep.” He murmurs, “A lot has happened today, Riyo, suppose my head didn’t want to cooperate.”

Riyo coos, “Aww, perhaps you were worried about lil old me?” 

He turns away sharply, cheeks flushing, “Shuddup.” 

Riyo only seems to get fueled by his reaction because she bursts out laughing, smacking his arm in the process.

“That’s so sweet, Zanka, never thought you had it in you.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” He snaps, flustered.

“You often act like you don’t care about any of us,” she says matter-of-factly. “But it’s clear you do. Why are you so emotionally constipated, man?”

Zanka groans, “What if we stop talking? Just an idea.”

Riyo laughs again, softly this time and rests her head on his shoulder as exhaustion creeps up slowly. She feels him tense under her weight, not accustomed to physical touch nor any kind of affection, but doesn’t push her away. 

“Let me close my eyes for a while, would you?” 

Against his urge to reject her, he keeps silent and lets her be, moping angrily in silence as she falls asleep on him. 

Zanka doesn’t know how long they stay like that as he gazes at the sky and Riyo begins snoring softly. He shifts to get more comfortable, sighing in defeat, and after some hesitation, pulls her under the blanket to keep her warm.

I should take her back to bed, he thinks. I’m starting to get tired, too.

Closing his eyes, Zanka takes a deep and long breath, preparing himself for the walk back with Riyo as extra weight on his back. When he opens them again, a scream is cut off as a hand clamps on his face, smothering the muffled sound. His heart spikes violently against his ribs, lungs straining as panic takes over.

Standing right in front of him is Jabber. Shirtless, hair framing his face gently, with his eyes sharp and unblinking. His expression is impossible to read, an odd cross between amusement and something far darker he doesn’t want to know the meaning of.

The man leans closer to him as a smile splits his lips, something more like a slow tear along the face than actual joy. His pink eyes examine Zanka’s face with slow deliberation before shifting downward.

Jabber tenses up above him as his gaze settles on the curled up form of Riyo’s body against Zanka’s shoulder, tucked under the blanket, peaceful and unaware. 

A muscle in his jaw twitches as Jabber processes what he’s seeing. His mood shifts noticeably as the air around him turns heavy. It’s not just annoyance, not just his usual aggressive volatility, but something he can’t quite put a name on that he’s now showing.

The coldness of Jabber’s rings on his lips doesn't go unnoticed as pressure is applied. There’s no blade at his throat, no Jinki summoned nor an active threat to feel this unnerved. But it doesn’t matter, for Jabber has always been dangerous in ways that don’t require weapons.

“Naughty boy ye are, arentcha?” He whispers gravelly, breath warm against Zanka’s cheek. Zanka feels something twist on his stomach at the tone of his voice. “Keep quiet for me, yeah?”

Zanka’s eyes flick toward Riyo, still asleep, oblivious to the tension in the air.

Jabber notices.

He sees something raw slipping past the usual veil of sadism. Brief, but real.

“She yer girl, ain’t she?” Jabber asks suddenly, voice quieter now, more intimate.

The blonde flinches at the question. He tries to shake his head, but Jabber’s hand keeps him still.

His fingers slip from Zanka’s mouth, slow and deliberate, dragging across the skin of his cheek as they fall away. None of them comment on the thumb that lingers for a brief second on his lower lip as Jabber pulls away.

Jabber tilts his head, gaze never leaving him.

“Funny,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Didn’t peg you as the type to cuddle in the moonlight.”

There’s a mocking lilt to it, but it rings hollow.

“I don’t.”

Jabber hums thoughtfully, “Ion know man, sounds like a lie to me.”

Zanka scowls, “I’m not lying, you fuck.”

That gets a grin out of Jabber, sharp and crooked, “You get this snappy every time someone calls you out or is it just when I do it?”

Zanka exhales hard through his nose, trying to will away the heat creeping up his neck, “Fuck off. She asked to rest, that’s all.”

“On you, though?” Jabber presses. His voice is curious, but not innocent. 

Zanka glares at him, “Why the hell do you care?”

“Dunno,” he admits too casually. “Didn’t like the look of it.”

Zanka snorts in disbelief, “You're fucking with me. Of course you didn’t like it, you hate everyone.”

“I don’t hate you.”

That makes Zanka pause as stares at him. Jabber smiles wider.

“Don’t get weird,” Zanka mutters, feeling a flush creep up his cheeks.

“I’m not the one getting weird, man. You’re the one getting all red and defensive about this.”

Zanka’s voice drops to a hiss, “Because you’re acting like I’m doing something wrong.”

“Are you?” Jabber asks, voice lilting. “Don’t think you’re the type to let someone close like that.”

His gaze lingers on Zanka’s face, then drops, deliberately,  to where Riyo is still resting.

“Why her?”

Zanka opens his mouth, then closes it. He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, “I don’t do this kind of thing, okay? Not with Riyo, not with anyone. I don’t...” He exhales sharply. “It’s not me.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I don’t care about that shit.” Zanka’s voice cracks at the edge, “Romance, closeness, whatever the hell it is you think you’re seeing. It’s not what you think.”

Jabber studies him for a beat, “Then why’re you working so hard to make me believe you?”

The silence stretches between them, tense and thick. Zanka’s hands twitch at his sides, and he looks away, jaw clenched like he ponders the same question in his head. Why is he trying so hard?

“Just—forget it,” he mutters.

Jabber steps back slowly, grin still in place but his gaze is different. Not quite as smug, but curious. Almost soft, if that word could ever fit him.

“You make no sense sometimes.” He tilts his head, dreads falling to one side. “But I like watchin’ ya get all riled up.”

Zanka curses under his breath, dragging the blanket tighter around himself like it might block out the whole conversation.

“Next time you want company,” Jabber adds, already turning to leave, “I’m always available for ya.”

“Wait!”

He hadn’t meant to call out to him, but letting Jabber walk away like that didn’t sit right with him. 

Jabber pauses, turning his body slightly, not fully facing him, but enough to let Zanka know he was listening.

“That thing you said earlier, about leaving the raiders for me,” he gulps down the sudden nervousness coiling in his gut, “what did you really mean by it?”

“What did I mean?” he repeats confused, “I left ‘em for ya. Ain’t no deeper meaning than that.”

“It doesn’t make sense…” Zanka looks miserable as he says this, “What are you trying to do? Your actions, your words, they are all over the place! All of you is confusing!”

Jabber shrugs, unbothered. “But that ain’t my problem. You either believe me or you don’t. It’s the pure, unadulterated truth, Zan-zan.”

Zanka scowls at the nickname, “Last time you said I bored you so much you started doubting if I was even worth your time,” he says, voice low and bitter. The memory claws at him; Jabber’s venom burning through him, a wound torn in his stomach, and the cold edge of death hanging over him as he tripped over his memories, “You were ready to let me die like a fucking cockroach if it weren’t for Riyo.”

At the mention of her name, Jabber’s expression darkens into a scowl.

“Yer still alive, aren’tcha?”

Zanka snaps, “That’s not the point, Jabber. Your whole speech and reasoning is fucking twisted. I don’t know how Corvus believed any of it.”

“I’m truthful, man, what else do ya want me to say?”

“The real truth!”

Jabber closes the space between them in a single, long stride. Zanka’s back hits the backrest of the bench, breath catching as Jabber’s arm cages him in, cutting off any possible way for escape.  His body is too close for comfort, too intimate, and filled with tension that could explode any moment.

His voice drops, low and husky, “My truth lies within you, Zan-zan, take it or leave it.”

Zanka’s breath hitches as heat blooms across his cheeks, impossible to ignore. Jabber’s magenta eyes search his face, full of intensity, of something deeper he can’t yet name, and the grin that follows only worsens the frantic beat of his heartbeat.

Silence stretches between them like a taut wire, time slowing and encapsulating them in. Jabber’s gaze flickers to his lips, over and over, with no shame. Only prime and ripe hunger, ready to bounce as he tests the waters.

Zanka licks his lips, nervous. Jabber notices, eyes following the movement of his tongue as his pupils dilate.

A low heat stirs in Zanka’s belly, slow and simmering, as the space between them dissolves bit by bit. Jabber’s breath brushes his mouth like a whisper. Zanka’s eyes flutter shut, his lashes brushing his cheek and he leans in slowly.

Then, he feels it: the first tentative touch of Jabber’s lips on his own, ghosting gently and bringing a full-body shudder.

“Hmm…Zanka?”

Riyo’s sleepy voice shatters the moment like glass.

Zanka jerks back, pushing Jabber away instinctively. The sudden movement causes the red-head to jolt awake, eyes bleary as she blinks the sleep away and focuses her gaze on the scene in front of her.

Zanka’s cheeks burn scarlet, eyes glazed over with panic and embarrassment written all over his face as he avoids her scrutinizing eyes. The real surprise comes from Jabber standing a few paces away from them with his back turned, scratching the back of his neck lazily.

“Sorry,” Riyo mutters, voice thick with sleep. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Riyo looks at them puzzled as their voices overlap, a comically disastrous duet with the short answer. Her eyes squint with the threat of falling asleep on her spot once again as she tries to understand what’s going on. 

“Okay,” she nods, not understanding shit. “I’m going to sleep.”

Stretching her arms above her head and yawning tiredly, she bids them goodbye without another glance as she shuffles back to the building with a slow but steady walk.

Zanka clutches the front of his shirt like it’s the only thing anchoring him. His heart is pounding so hard it hurts. His face is still aflame, and shame creeps in slowly—cold and crawling—at the realization of just how close he’d come to letting everything spiral if it weren’t for Riyo’s interruption.

“Zanka.”

The mentioned snaps his eyes towards Jabber, widened and surprised, as the man stares down at him in silence.

Jabber opens his mouth to say something, but Zanka beats him to it, “This didn’t happen.”

“Huh?”

Zanka stands from the bench, careful to cover himself with the blanket around his shoulder, before he follows on Riyo’s steps back to the building.

“This never happened, Jabber.”

The man doesn’t say anything nor goes after him as Zanka makes an escape to the confines and safety of his bedroom. 

Blood is pumping on his veins with fervor, all flowing to regions he doesn’t want to think about as he throws himself at the bed in hopes to fall asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow.

Nothing comes except the sudden shudder down his spine as his pelvis rocks against the mattress. The reaction it elicits is not lost in him, a groan caught on his throat as his face flushes in embarrassment. 

No, fuck it, don’t fucking do it.

Zanka closes his eyes and counts to ten, breathing in, and breathing out in hopes to calm his hammering heart against his ribcage, and hopefully his erection hidden away in the confines of his pants.

It’s embarrassing. It’s filthy. This is not okay.

But you want it, his thoughts supply uselessly. Under you. Panting. Begging.

“Fuck off!” he yells at his brain. Zanka has never felt this hot in his life, skin burning and clammy hands in need to help with his relief.

Why now? Why with Jabber of all people?! 

He doesn’t dwell on the thought, too afraid of what his lust-filled mind would come up with if he thinks too much.

Zanka bucks his hips again unconsciously, a sliver of relief runs down his spine at the friction, and he can’t seem to stop his actions when the only solution available is to ride it out.

The thin layer of sweat clings to him uncomfortably as he begins thumbing his way down to the edge of his trousers. His stomach spams when his fingertips go past the barrier of clothing, dragging the seconds by as he feels the beginning of his happy trail and follows it gingerly and trembling.

A sigh escapes his lips when his hand finds purchase at the base of his cock, erect and hot between his fingers, and pulls it out of the confines of his pants to start stroking from the base to the wet tip leaking pre-cum.

The raggedy moan that follows sounds so sinful, Zanka regrets ever falling into his desire as the pace of his hand quickens. 

Against his better judgment, he lets his brain come up with fantasies of their own as he chases after his orgasm. From filth to endearing one, Zanka imagines Jabber with him in the room, eyes glinting mischievously as he watches Zanka masturbating frantically and chanting his name with desperation.

He imagines Jabber’s hand replacing his own, pumping his cock with the same rapid pace as he coos in his ear gently, whispering sweet nothings that causes goosebumps and shocks of pleasure wreck his body.

Such a good boy ye are, he would whisper, kissing his cheek. Zanka whines at the thought, at the warmth of his body against his.

Gonna be good and cum fo’ me, yeah?

Jabber would giggle, so giddy as he kisses his way down his chest to his navel, and start sucking him off while his hands explore the expanse of his thighs, nails scratching him and leaving angry red lines on the unmarred skin as he bucks his hips against the hot and wet cavity of his mouth to chase after his climax.

Zanka in exchange would grab a fistfull of his hair, pulling harshly when Jabber would get too playful and start lacking in pleasuring him. The rough treatment would encourage Jabber to do good, to follow his instructions and behave, anything to keep receiving the pain and abuse Zanka can provide for him. 

He imagines Jabber being able to deep throat him fully. To feel the back of his throat constrict to give him some sort of stimulation as Jabber moans deliriously and the vibrations reverberate through his member. Zanka would start thrusting his hips against his mouth, too horny to stop, too lost in the feeling that Jabber has to guide his hands to the back of his head to roughen him up—and Zanka would comply.

Jabber would be so pliant under his influence, doing as he’s told, obeying his word without complaint. He would prioritize Zanka’s pleasure before anything else, so eager to please, so eager to keep having a taste of him.

“Fuck, Jabber, Jabber—” Zanka’s eyes rolls to the back of his head as the coil in his gut begins to untie. “Ah, fuck—Oh, oh, mhg—!”

With the last image of Jabber opening his mouth, ready to receive whatever Zanka will allow as his tongue comes in contact with the base of his cock, he comes with a groan and his name painting his lips filthily.

The cum lands on his bare stomach, thick and viscous, in big amounts overflowing his hand. It feels hot on his skin as he regains his breath, Jabber’s image on his head disappearing as the high begins to snuff out.

The realization of what he’s done hits him in the face, revolting and disgusting, as nausea overtakes his senses that Zanka has to take a shuddering breath as he wills his limbs to stop shaking.

The sweat dries on his damped skin when he tucks his flaccid member inside his pants—but not even hiding the evidence of what transpired on his sheets is enough to subside the shame and dirtiness of his actions. 

It’s an ugly feeling that settles on his chest and clouds his brain as he stands from his bed, tired and lethargic, and drags himself across the room to the bathroom. His limbs are heavy as he turns on the lights, the guilt won’t let him even see his reflection on the mirror as he starts undressing slowly.

The shirt peels off his skin and lets it fall to the floor without a second glance, his pants and trousers follow next; Zanka can’t look at the pile of clothing without gagging.

The cold air prickles at the back of his neck as Zanka stands there, hands braced on either side of the sink, and staring at the porcelain basin instead of his own eyes in the reflection. 

It’s inevitable as his name creeps back in, echoing ugly in his head: Jabber.

And not the version Zanka knows of. Not the loud-mouthed, infuriatingly smug bastard that knows how to get under his skin when they fight and peels his character layer by layer, wishing to reach the core of his being and chew away what little of his sanity is left.

But the version at the courtyard. The version who had looked at him like he meant something he needed to mark possession of, like he was more than just a problem to deal with—liike he was seen.

Zanka shakes his head and steps into the shower before his brain can follow that thread to its end. 

His fingers rest against the tiled wall, forehead pressed to the cool ceramic as the water warms on his skin. The guilt doesn't wash away, rather it clings tighter, and as the seconds passes by the nausea doesn’t subside but gets worse. Zanka has to sit on the tiled floor when his knees buckle under his weight.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he tells himself. I don't—I'm not supposed to—

But the memory lingers: Jabber’s voice, Jabber’s laugh. The touch that lingered on Zanka’s shoulder just a second too long, the kiss that almost took place and the tension it brought.

He shuts his eyes tight and grits his teeth.

The water slides down his face like tears he refuses to let fall. He hasn't cried in years, he won’t start now. Not over this, and much less over him.

He scrubs hard, rough with himself, like he can tear the feelings out of his skin if he tries hard enough. Like he can strip the confusion, the softness, the shame, the ache right off his bones. But it doesn’t work. 

And beneath all the guilt, all the denial,... there’s fear.

Because it isn’t just what he might feel for Jabber. 

Is that he already does.

And he doesn’t know how to live with that.

In the span of a single day, Zanka had cycled through so many emotions he nearly gave himself whiplash. From anger to grief, from resentment to confusion, and lastly, from lust to shame.

It was a harsh reminder that he was still human, after all, not just a mindless puppet going through the motions, waiting for someone to pull the strings and dictate how he should behave and act.

Although he’d never admit it out loud, after last night, Zanka would give anything to have someone else take the reins, if just for a while.

“Zanka, you here with us?”

Riyo’s face looms far too close to his, red hair falling like curtains as her sharp eyes scan him silently, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and his disheveled state. 

She says nothing. No teasing, no questions. Just that quiet, invasive concern that makes him itch.

With a weary sigh, he gently pushes her face away and gives a small nod, doing his best to anchor himself in the moment and not let his mind drift away. Gris and Riyo exchange a concerned glance. 

“Sorry, Gris,” he murmurs. “You were saying?”

Gris gives a reassuring smile, but the worry lingers in his eyes, “Don’t worry about it. You must be exhausted, though. Why don’t you rest and we will update you later?”

“No. I’m good.” Zanka straightens where he sits beside his bed, forcing some life back into his posture. “Please, continue.”

Gris nods reluctantly. 

“The man who attacked me… He was after information on Jabber,” he says, voice low and steady. “Said his name was Bundus. Polite, even apologetic. But he made it clear that his boss wanted answers, one way or another, before attacking me.”

Jabber clicks his tongue, “Big old guy has always been to ask first and don’t wait for an answer if not immediate."

“Now that I remember, the woman of the manhole said something similar,” Riyo purses her lips, thoughtful, “No small talk with her though. Just straight to beating the hell out of me as she demanded Jabber’s whereabouts."

A growl rises from Rudo, “Next time I see her, I’m killing her on sight.”

“What have we said about killing people, Rudo?” Enjin says dryly.

The white-haired boy rolls his eyes, “We don’t.”

The blonde nodded like a proud parent, “That’s what I like to hear.”

Gris’ coughs disturbs the conversation as pain wracks his body. He grips Riyo’s shoulder to keep himself upright and in an instant, Eishia and Enjin were at his side, steadying him, easing him onto the mattress.

“G-Gris, you can’t push yourself.” Eishia says softly, voice tight with worry. “You need at least a few more days to fully recover.”

The man shakes his head, accepting the handkerchief Enjin extends to him to clean the thin line of blood that has slipped down his chin.

“They need the information now,” his voice sounds rough and painful. Zanka can’t help but wince at the sound of it. “The longer we wait, the higher the chance the raiders find Jabber first and take him by force. We cannot let that happen.”

Jabber barks a laugh, “Funny. And here I thought you would hate my guts for what I did to ya.”

“I don’t hate you, if that’s what you think.” Gris says in contempt, “Despite your actions, I’d rather move on than hold onto grudges. You’re a Cleaner now, Jabber, that makes you one of us, even if I still have my doubts.”

Riyo nods, a contemplative look on her face, “Gris is right. If we start doubting you, we’re not getting anywhere. We have to trust each other.”

“I don’t like the idea of Jabber being close to Gris nor Zanka,” Rudo mutters through clenched teeth, “But… if they’re okay with you, I’ll stand down. Just don’t make me regret it.”

“Well, well,” Enjin claps twice to gather their attention, “with that settled, I think we can make Jabber's place within the cleaners official.”

Few of the people gathered around Gris’ bed cheer alongside Enjin. Follo even goes the extra mile to clap Jabber’s back, unfazed by the threat of the ex-raider pulling his claws out to impale him or choke him to death.

But neither happens. 

Jabber stands there, motionless and with a blank expression on his face, as some of the guys congratulate him and the rest watch the celebration unfold. Zanka watches in silence as the ex-raider shrinks on himself, his usual boisterous self being reduced to silence like ash in the wind.

It’s odd, so out of character, that Zanka scowls at his sudden submissiveness.

“Does that mean we’re gonna have a party today?” Tomme asks, practically bouncing. “We could order food from that new place in the nearby town.”

Amo chimes in, “Can Amo ask for sweets? Amo has been craving cakes as of lately!” 

“I want some too!”

“Oh, how about beer? Jabber, do you drink?”

Enjin pinches the bridge of his nose as the volume spikes, a vein twitching on his forehead. “You’re all giving me a headache.”

“Booo, boring!” Riyo stuck out her tongue. “Let us have some fun!”

“You little shits,” Enjin mutters under his breath.

Gris grabs him by the arm, silencing his complaints instantly, “Let them be, Enjin. It’s not always that we get newcomers so easily.”

“Okay.”

Riyo and Follo burst out laughing, doubling over at the sight of the ever-serious Enjin getting easily tamed by someone as soft-spoken as Gris. Enjin flushes crimson and looks away, sulking beside the bed with his arms crossed and avoiding their gazes completely. 

Gris, despite the strain evident in his body, manages a soft laugh that slips out between shallow breaths. His hand finds Enjin’s lower back, tugging him gently closer until their bodies are flush. He rests his forehead against Enjin’s shoulder with quiet familiarity, and Enjin, ever unresisting when it comes to Gris, leans in like a tide drawn back to shore.

No one remarks on the tenderness shared between them. It’s something they need now, after all, since a conversation hasn’t taken place between the unspoken issue with their relationship. Riyo and Zanka understand that more than anyone.

The silence around it has long stopped being awkward; it’s simply understood.

Amo, oblivious or pretending to be, bursts into another enthusiastic idea about sweets with Rudo backing her up excitedly. Both Follo and Tomme start listing down what they would need for a party later that day as Eishia asks them to keep quiet while checking on Gris’ wounds. 

Across the room, Zanka watches as Riyo inches closer to Jabber, despite the latter showing no interest in partaking in chit-chat, to ease him into the dynamics of the team without overwhelming him. 

When Jabber reacts positively to something Riyo says, eyes lighting up and a grin splitting his face, Zanka’s patience cracks.

Annoyance coils like smoke in his gut. His fingers dig into the fabric of his pants, knuckles whitening, and heat simmers just beneath the surface, barely restrained.

Their laughter rings hollow in his ears as Zanka questions if what he’s feeling is justified.

“Can we please go back to how we’re dealing with Zodyl?” he snaps coldly. “Or are we going to keep wasting time?”

The room stills instantly.

The light chatter evaporates, leaving a silent void in its place. All eyes turn to him, some startled, some confused. Gris flinches slightly as Enjin stiffens. Amo’s expression falters, the spark in her eyes dimming slightly at the outburst. Even Jabber looks over at him with a flicker of surprise and a raised brow.

Zanka knows the weight of their stares, but his pride won’t let him back down. He keeps his scowl, jaw clenched, and fisting his pants as the guilt simmers, churning beneath his ribs, but it’s buried too deep to reach for now.

Silence lingers for a few seconds too long before Follo, always the one to ease tension, speaks up with an awkward chuckle.

“Well... I guess I’ll go stock up on supplies with Tomme while you guys handle the plan.”

“Yeah, good idea. Better to get started now,” Tomme grabs his arm, nodding quickly, “Gris, I'm really glad you're okay. Get better soon, 'kay?”

“I-I’m heading out too,” Eishia murmurs. “Let me know if he starts feeling unwell, Enjin.”

“Will do.”

The air in the room still clings heavy after Eishia closes the door behind her. And it’s up to Enjin to get back on track before the situation gets worse.

“I think we’re done talking about dessert,” Enjin says finally, without humor. He turns his attention to the rest, keeping his voice even. “Let’s settle rotations before the next assignment comes through.”

“Rotatios for what?” Riyo asks.

Enjin nods towards Jabber.

“Team-ups when Jabber is deployed on assignments.”

“I thought he was going to keep working with me and Amo.” Rudo interjects.

“That was the initial plan until Zodyl’s ambush,” Enjin says, voice low but clear as he rubs the back of his neck. “The boss thinks it’s best if Jabber keeps rotating through different teams for now. Zodyl’s made it clear he wants Jabber back in his ranks, one way or another, we can’t let that happen.”

Riyo nods, “I see the vision. If Zodyl doesn’t know which team Jabber’s with, he can’t predict when to hit again.”

“Exactly.”

“How are we gonna do this, then?”

“The first team already deployed was Rudo with Amo. The second is you alongside Fu.” 

Zanka immediately shifts in his seat, eyes narrowing, “You’re taking Riyo from my team? We work best together, why not pair me up with her?”

“Aww, don’t worry Zanka!” Riyo says, smiling with a playful edge. She crosses her arms and adds, “We’ll tag again sometime. Though, I’m kinda curious how Fu works anyway…”

“Little man’s a beast,” Jabber cuts in, grinning. “Don’tcha worry.”

Enjin continues, “Team Eager will be assisting too. Tamsy and Delmon are on standby, so they’ll sub in when we call for it.”

Zanka’s been biting his tongue the entire time, trying to hold back the heat in his chest. But now, the silence around his name starts to scream in his ears.

His voice cuts through the room. “And me?”

Enjin doesn’t flinch when he answers, “You will be assisting teams that don’t include Jabber.”

“Why not?”

“We need to keep the trail muddy, Zanka. Zodyl’s intel isn't gone, it’s just slowed with how it turned out last time. If Jabber keeps bouncing between teams, it’s harder for Zodyl to track who he’s with or where he’ll be next.”

Zanka stands from the chair, voice tight, “Then rotating him with me would do the same, I see no difference.”

“There is a difference,” Enjin admits. “Zodyl knows you work with Riyo as a pair, we can’t send you two together, that’s why we split you. And we can’t let you team-up with Jabber.”

Zanka narrows his eyes, “You don’t think I can handle him.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

Riyo speaks softly, “Zanka…”

But Zanka cuts her off, “You’re all so damn sure I won’t stand my ground if I face Zodyl again.”

Enjin shakes his head, slowly, “No. You’re too compromised in this matter as is Jabber. I don’t doubt your strength, but I can’t let you fight with Jabber if things get worse.”

Zanka’s fists curl at his sides.

Jabber, leaning against the wall with a half-lidded stare, rolls his eyes. “They’re doin’ it to protect me, Zan-zan. Don’t get yer pants twisted.”

Zanka turns on him like a blade unsheathed, “Oh, don’t act like you’re a victim here.”

“I’m not,” Jabber says coolly. “But it’s true.”

Zanka scoffs. “They’re not protecting you, they’re protecting the lie you keep spinning.”

Jabber straightens with a smirk, “What lie?”

Zanka’s voice lowers, bitter in every syllable, “That you left the raiders.”

“I did,” Jabber says without hesitation.

“You say that,” Zanka growls, stepping forward, “but how do we know you’re not just waiting to hand us over when the moment’s right?”

Jabber’s grin widens, too wide. “Are we doin’ this again? You want me to spill my guts in front of the team? Huh? Want me to air my dirty little redemption arc so you can call bullshit?”

“They’re not your team,” Zanka hisses.

Jabber laughs, unbothered and volatile, “Boo-hoo, they are now. What’re ya gonna do about it?”

“You’re so fucking annoying—”

“Bite me, then!” Jabber snaps back with a maddened grin, stepping closer. “Go on, punch me. Let it aaaaall out, if it makes ya feel better.”

“As if you wouldn’t like that,” Zanka snarls.

Gris tenses from the bed. Enjin starts to intervene, but Jabber keeps going, too far gone.

“You think I care about the rest of this team?” he sneers, almost shaking with energy. “This band of little cleaners you cling to? I left the raiders for you, Zanka. You. And I’m done repeating myself.”

Zanka stiffens like he’s been struck.

Jabber’s voice cracks now, wild and desperate. “Wanna fight me? Go ahead! I’ve been itching to fight you since the second I got here.”

“You—stupid, masochistic bastard,” Zanka snarls, breath ragged. “Yappin’ your mouth like a wind-up toy. I hate you.”

Jabber spreads his arms. “Then hit me, bad boy. Do it. Rip it all outta your chest if it’ll shut you up.”

Zanka’s voice drops cold and deadly. “Stop using me as your excuse to get off, fuckass.”

Jabber’s grin falters, if just for a moment.

“You didn’t come here for me,” Zanka continues, breath shaking with fury. “You’re so high on your poison you don’t even know what you want anymore. I’m not falling for it.”

Zanka doesn’t look at anyone as he turns on his heel and storms toward the door.

“Do whatever you want, Enjin,” he spits. “But don’t count me in.”

The door slams behind him as a final say, silencing everyone in the room.

Chapter Text

Zanka was taught from infancy to control his impulses and maintain composure whenever things didn’t go his way.

Cause’ more often than not, Zanka was always unable to predict outcomes of situations where he had no previous experiences with and always lost by a mile. Failing alone used to be enough reason to send him into madness, wishing his skills would allow him to be level-headed and authoritative like Kyouka, or show an ounce of Goka’s prowess at strength.

“The more you waste comparing yourself, the less you grow.” Kyouka’s words were always there to peel his insecurities away without him saying a thing. Zanka hated being read so easily, “No one is able to perform excellently without breaking their bones first.”

Zanka never understood how her words were enough to shatter him and overwrite his shame into pillars to hold his goals. 

Bullets to pierce his stamina, words to shatter his ego, unbeknown to him, his sister has been breaking him down to rebuild as she saw fit—until he became the perfect replica of her ideals and desires to overcome his weaknesses.

Like the perfect pawn, Zanka learnt many skills from observing her and imitating, just like any child would when they looked up to someone grandiose, and his personality molded Kyouka’s perfectly.

Praise, commands, congratulations; Zanka now knew what to say, how to respond, how to shift the moment to his advantage, just like his big sister taught him.

To always make a better impression than he was worth had become second nature, but it didn't matter.

The Nijiku pride was on the line, after all.

To appear untouchable, so far removed that others could only wish to be like him, was a skill Zanka had honed to perfection. And when he rose to the top of the class, fulfilling every expectation placed on him, it felt like things were as they were meant to be.

Zanka thought of him to be a genius then: the only one who could challenge the most grueling trials, prove his strength and intellect, and rightfully claim the golden throne as his. 

Everything was in motion for his success, part of his wish to outshine the rest and make Kyouka proud.

Until Hyo, that is.

Zanka thinks the moment she dismissed his goal as nothing but a childish wish is when his façade began crumbling.

Slowly, the mask slipped. Not enough for most to notice, but just enough for the right people to start doubting him. Enough for classmates to create distance and take away the admiration they had placed on him. The flawless Nijiku prodigy, it turned out, wasn’t quite as promising as he made himself to be.

And when he chose a stick as his weapon of choice—the now named Lovely Assistaff—believing in the dumb fantasy that he could be a main protagonist, he fled.

Because he humiliated himself.

Everything he had learned then: at the academy, in the town, under Kyouka’s mentorship; all was discarded the moment Enjin recruited him to become a Cleaner. His ideals and goals shifted completely when a new world opened for him.

He told himself he’d change, if not for Enjin, for himself.

But old habits were hard to kill.

The door of the infirmary closes with a thundering sound behind him he instinctively flinches from the impact. 

Zanka’s footsteps are heavy as he walks down the corridor, trying to quiet the thoughts drilling into his skull, thoughts that only grew louder the longer he let them linger and simmer his patience.

They don’t trust you.

They believe you to be weak.

They trust a raider more than you.

He clenches his fists, struggling to keep the bubbling anger from spilling over, and breathes deeply as he walks past the doors of the entrance.

Out through the headquarters and into the deserted lands, Zanka follows a familiar path, one he often takes when he needs to get away from the world, and accelerates the pace when someone calls out his name from afar. 

A cliff comes into view soon after, the ground falling away into endless wasteland and vast expanse of terrain unexplored.

It’s not a pretty sight, not like in the books he reads about the world before everything went to shit, but it does the work to ground him as his eyes surveys the horizon with something akin to contempt on his gaze. 

There is no grass to cover the space, no cloudless skies with the sun peeking to warm the earth, and no life beyond the insects crawling underneath the surface and the sights of crows flying above him. 

Imagining a world where the dangers of trash beasts and poisonous environments doesn’t exist sounds fantastic right now.

No expectations, no responsibilities, nothing to prove—Zanka wonders if his next life will lead him to a better future than this if he were to take a literal leap of faith.

“If you jump again I ain’t catchin’ you this time.”

Zanka bristles at the sound of the voice, “I’m not.”

Enjin stops a few paces behind Zanka, boots crunching lightly over the dry earth and taking a deep huff of his cigarette. The wind picks up just enough to fill the silence between them, whistling low and steady over the edge of the cliff and taking away the smoke he breathes out.

Zanka doesn’t turn. Doesn’t even pretend to acknowledge him as he tries to maintain composure as the previous encounter returns to him like a slap in the face.

“I figured you’d come here,” Enjin says after a moment, eyes surveying the area. “Not the prettiest place to be, but I guess it does the job to bring a sense of calmness.”

The younger man’s jaw ticks, but he says nothing. His gaze remains fixed on the desolate horizon, arms crossed over his chest like armor.

“You were out of line,” Enjin adds, voice calm, unchallenging. “What happened?”

“I don’t need a lesson,” Zanka mutters. “Not now.”

“I’m not giving one.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Enjin sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Why are you really here?” Zanka asks flatly. “If you’re going to reprimand me, I don't want to hear it.”

“I didn’t come to reprimand you, either.”

Zanka lets out a dry laugh, “Could’ve fooled me twice.”

He turns his head slightly, just enough to cast Enjin a sidelong glance; sharp, distant, a silent warning meant to drive him away. But Enjin doesn’t flinch. He holds the stare, steady and unyielding, until Zanka finally looks away.

“I always wonder how you do it,” he says with a thin voice. “To be so composed when making cold ass decisions without fearing the repercussions.”

Enjin scratches the back of his neck, “That’s not what’s happening.”

“No?” Zanka’s eyes narrow. “Because from where I stood, it looked a lot like you don’t trust me to stand my ground with Jabber on the same team.”

“I thought you wanted to avoid him at all costs.”

Zanka frowns, snarling, “I do. But I want it to be my decision, not yours.”

Enjin’s expression stays even, “That was the boss’ call, not mine.”

Zanka scoffs. “Yeah, sure. Since when did you start listening and abiding by what he says?”

He turns back to the cliffside, shoulders rigid.

“I get it, Enjin, I’m not oblivious. But if something’s wrong with me, or if I’m such a liability, at least have the decency to say so outright, instead of sidelining me in front of everyone and making me feel like a fool.”

“I think that’s a stretch,” Enjin takes him by the shoulder gently, firm but not forceful. Zanka flinches from the contact. If Enjin notices, he doesn’t say anything, “You’re thinking in circles about an issue that doesn’t exist. This isn’t the Zanka I know, but some child who feels victimized because things didn’t go his way. Are we on the same page or do I have to wait for your tantrum to be over?”

“I’m not throwing a tantrum.” Zanka inhales sharply through his nose, smacking Enjin’s hand away, “And I don’t have issues.”

“That’s like me saying I don’t have a smoking problem,” Enjin says flatly. “See how absurd that sounds?”

Zanka closes his eyes for a moment, trying to control his temper.

“I came here to cool off, but you’re not making this easy.”

“I didn’t come to change your mind,” His tone softens. “If you want out, I’ll respect that. But if you’re willing to listen, I’ll explain why the boss made that call.”

Zanka turns his head slightly again, this time with a look that’s more tired than angry but nods slightly.

“It wasn’t a fair choice, and I won’t pretend it was. But you have to understand both are too compromised in this mess.”

Scoffing, Zanka raises a brow, “Okay, I’ll bite, how so?”

“The boss briefed me about Jabber’s motivations yesterday, and they line up with what you told Rudo and I back then. And, well, Jabber's outburst kind of solidified the feelings he holds for you.” Enjin sighs, “It makes sense as to why Zodyl sought you out deliberately. He must know about Jabber’s attachment to you, at least to some extent. That makes you a potential target. Leverage, if things go wrong.”

“And how are you so sure that’s the case?”

“We’re not, but it’s a possibility.” Enjin says, crushing the end of his cigarette under his boot. “We’d rather take the odds than risk anything happening.”

Zanka doesn’t answer. 

“You’re angry,” Enjin continues, voice level. “And you have every right to be. But try to see the broader picture, for both your sake and Jabber’s.”

“Why are you so keen on trusting someone like him?” Zanka brushes his hair to the side, frustrated, “He’s a raider, ex-raider, whatever he wants to call himself. He tried to kidnap Rudo, injured half our team, nearly killed Gris. Tell me, where’s the logic in trusting that?”

“You’re not wrong to distrust him,” Enjin admits. “I do too, but Riyo’s right. Someone has to take the first step, or we stay trapped in the same cycle. Redemption doesn’t come without trust, even when it’s undeserved.” Taking a deep breath, Enjin claps his back and grabs him by the shoulder, “We all start somewhere, don’t we? Our upbringing shouldn’t determine the people we become in the future if we pursue a change for the better. Let’s give Jabber a chance to redeem himself, if that is what he looks for.”

Zanka hums, thoughtful but silent. Enjin takes the quiet as progress and gestures toward the path back.

“Come on, let’s go back.” He grins faintly. “Try to be more positive, maybe Jabber’s presence will end up meaning something better for the Cleaners.”

“Only you could say something so optimistic.”

“What can I say? Sometimes I’m right.”

Enjin couldn’t be more wrong in his life.

The moment they return, chaos greets them. The hallway is a storm of noises: Jabber sprawled unconscious on a stretcher with Tomme and Follo rushing him toward the infirmary, Fu stumbling after them, pale as chalk, and babbling apologies that tumble out faster than breath. Eishia is close behind, her expression drawn tight with worry, eyes darting between the wounded and the chaos.

Zanka stops dead on his tracks, his thoughts blank. What the hell happened while we were gone?

By the time they reach the infirmary door, Jabber’s been laid across a narrow bed right next to Gris’. Eishia leans over him, examining his external wounds as Fu sits on a chair.

Riyo lounges against the wall, her grin sharp and amused. “Hey,” she calls out, “you missed the show.”

Enjin blinks. “What the hell happened? I wasn’t even gone for long.”

Riyo shrugs. “In short? Jabber was distressed after the argument with Zanka. Found Fu, ordered him to fight and Hii took over. Things got ugly pretty quickly.”

Zanka glances toward Fu. The man is trembling, eyes glassy, and hands twisting together like he’s trying to wring the guilt out of his own fingers. “Fu looks fine to me, though.”

“Yeah, you should see the other guy,” Riyo says, pointing at the unconscious form of Jabber.

Enjin lets out a low whistle. “How bad?”

Riyo tilts her head. “A couple of broken ribs, I guess, maybe both knees shattered. Give or take.”

“Both knees?”

“Both,” she confirms.

“And some bruising,” Eishia adds without looking up. 

Fu’s breath catches, alarmed, “I didn’t mean to!” His voice breaks, “I-I didn’t know what to do!”

Sighing softly, Enjin runs a hand through his hair. He steps forward and lays a steadying hand on Fu’s shoulders, nudging him towards the door. “Hey, breathe, c’mon.” 

Stopping just outside the room, he pushes him lightly into Zanka’s arms.

Zanka grunts, catching him. “The hell?”

“Take him to the common room,” The blonde says. “Get him something sweet to eat and help him calm down.”

“Why me?”

Enjin points at the now empty chair beside Jabber’s bed. “You want to sit here and watch Eishia bring him back to life instead?”

“H-He’s not dead,” Eishia rebuts, “just unconscious.”

“Eh, same thing.”

Zanka glances at the dry blood on Jabber’s nose and mouth, then grimaces. “Uhhh, ya know what, Fu really does need that break.”

Fu lets out a startled noise as Zanka hooks an arm under his to lift him up effortlessly and stabilize him. His hands instinctively clutch at Zanka’s chest for balance, holding onto dear life and shaking slightly. For a heartbeat, their gazes meet: Fu’s wide eyes and flustered cheeks coloring beneath the mask, and Zanka’s deadpan expression. 

“S-sorry,” Fu stammers, voice barely a whisper.

The other huffs, “Yeah, yeah. Come on, drama queen.”

Fu nods quickly, avoiding eye contact as Zanka half-guides, half-drags him down the hall.

The common room is a quiet pocket of calm at the far end of the headquarters. The walls hum faintly with the low vibration of the air system, and afternoon light filters through half-closed blinds, cutting the space into bands of gold and shadow. 

Zanka nudges the door shut with his foot and steers Fu toward the old couch that dips in the middle from too much use. Fu sits obediently, shoulders hunched, his hands twisting on the cuffs on his jacket. He’s still too jittery, Zanka doesn’t know what to make of him. 

Walking across the room, the blonde finds the small counter where the sweets are kept and rummages through the drawer until he finds a pack of hard candies. He returns and drops one into Fu’s open hand before sitting beside him, close enough that their knees almost touch.

“Here, sugar helps. Just what doctor Enjin prescribed,” he says sarcastically.

Fu fumbles with it, blinking like he’s not sure whether to laugh or cry, “I-I don’t think sugar’s gonna fix this,” he murmurs, voice fray at the edges.

“Maybe not,” Zanka says, leaning back against the couch. “But it’s a start.”

For a few moments, the only sound is the faint crinkle of the candy wrapper in Fu’s hands. His fingers tremble as he unwraps it, movements small and shaky. Zanka doesn’t rush him. He just sits there, his quiet presence filling the space where panic used to be.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asks, uncertain.

Fu finally exhales, the sound unsteady. “H-He’s been after me since arriving,” he murmurs. “Kept saying he wanted to fight me. Said he needed it and now was the perfect time to put me to the test. I thought he was just being... him, you know? But he wasn’t joking.”

Zanka hums, eyes still forward. “That sounds about right for him.”

Fu huffs a humorless laugh. “Y-yeah. The thing is... it’s not the first time. Back when we worked for the Raiders, he used to do that too. Every chance he got, he’d try and pick a fight with me. I thought he just wanted to scratch that itch for pain.” He hesitates, eyes flicking down. 

Glancing over, Zanka is able to catch the faint tremor in Fu’s voice.

“I never gave him what he wanted,” Fu continues, quieter now. “I couldn’t. He scared me. Not because of who he was, but because of how he was. That energy he had... it was too much. Like standing next to a thunderstorm.” He lets out a shaky breath. “And I wasn’t built to handle lightning.”

Zanka’s expression softens, though he says nothing. Instead, he rests an elbow on the back of the couch, half-turned toward Fu.

“When he told me to fight this time, I said no. And then Hii took over and—” He stops, his throat tightening. “I couldn’t stop what was happening until it was too late.”

“Jabber knows what he signed up for when challenging ya.”

Fu blinks hard, as if trying to keep the tears from spilling, “I-I didn’t want Hii to hurt him.”

“It’s aight.” Zanka’s voice drops low, almost gentle. “You don’t have to explain.”

He lets out a breath that trembles into a laugh, “Most people would’ve yelled at me by now.”

Zanka gives a half-smirk, “I save the yelling for people who deserve it. Like the time you almost killed us on the jeep.”

Fu flushes, embarrassed, “M-Miss Eishia didn’t know how to drive…she asked me to, and I did what I could. Sorry about that..”

“I’m teasing ya.”

A small smile curls at the edge of his mouth, glancing over. The distance between them suddenly feels thinner, like the air itself has stilled for them.

He studies Zanka’s face, the strong line of his jaw, the long lashes framing his eyes. His gaze lingers before he looks away again, cheeks flushed, “You’re... not what I expected,” Fu admits softly. “Jabber used to talk about you all the time, you know? Said that you are strong, holding back a power that could overthrow him in a second and was excited for when that time comes.”

Zanka groans under his breath. “He talks too damn much.”

Fu’s smile widens, faint but real. “He likes you.”

That makes Zanka go still, his jaw tightens. “Yeah,” he says after a beat through clenched teeth, “He made that clear.”

“S-sorry, didn’t mean to upset you…” Fu hesitates, the air between them charged with something delicate, “I-I was under the impression you also—”

“No,” Zanka says finally. His tone is defensive, but Fu decides against pointing it out. “He’s too loud, dangerous, and I still don’t trust him.” he shakes his head, vulnerability slipping through, “Jabber confuses me a great deal.”

The other looks at him quietly, the faintest trace of understanding in his eyes, “Y-You know, you’re really not as scary as Jabber made it seem.”

Zanka hums, “Thanks, I guess. Glad someone has common sense.”

Fu laughs, an actual laugh this time, light and soft. Some of the tension drains from his shoulders, his breathing finally steadying.

“Yer feeling better?” Zanka asks.

Fu nods, smiling faintly. “Yeah. Thanks… for staying.”

“Don’t thank me.” Zanka leans back, arms crossed, “Just doing my job.”

“O-of course,” he mutters, “still, thank you.”

The candy finally pops into his mouth after being toyed this whole time, and Fu bites into it, savoring until it's broken into bits. The crunch of the caramel is the only sound resonating within the room as Zanka rests and Fu finally calms down.

The silence that follows between them stretches gently, warm and fragile, but comforting.

The light through the blinds keeps shifting in the background, crawling slowly across the couch until it pools over Fu’s hands, faintly sticky from the candy. 

When Zanka decides to peek at him, Fu’s eyes have drifted shut, lashes trembling faintly against his cheek. He’s slumped against the back of the couch, not asleep yet, just hovering at the edge of it, the exhaustion finally catching up. Slowly, his head slips onto his shoulder, surrendering to the tiredness.

Exhaling through his nose, Zanka lets his shoulders sink into the worn plush of the couch as Fu’s head fits between the juncture of his neck, “You’re really something,” he mutters quietly. 

Fu’s breath ghosts warm against the fabric of Zanka’s jacket, small and steady, and curls up closer until the blonde can’t ignore his presence.

He huffs, a quiet, half-amused sound that barely stirs the air, “Yer too kind for your own good,” he mutters, eyes drifting shut. “And too damn close.”

He tells himself he’s only resting his eyes, that he’ll move in a moment. But the weight of the day sits heavy behind his eyelids, and Fu’s warmth pressed against his side makes it harder to fight the pull. The faint buzzing of the air is enough to lull him to sleep.

Minutes slip by, maybe even hours. 

Zanka doesn’t really know how much time has passed until the hinges of the door creak loudly, cutting through the calmness as a thin blade and bustling his calming bubble.

Jabber doesn’t speak at first as he limps his way in, eyes taking in the scene in dreadful silence, careful to not disturb the couple on the couch. 

From Zanka’s half-slouched form, head tilted just slightly toward Fu, to Fu asleep against his shoulder, fingers curled loosely in his jacket, afraid Zanka would disappear into thin air the moment he let go; the shared quiet has no business being so gentle for them.

A huffing laugh leaves Jabber’ lips, slow and measured, lacking humor.

Zanka stirs at the sound, eyes blinking open to the dim light from the hallway. His bleary gaze finds Jabber, and for a moment, confusion flickers through it before the recognition settles in.

“Jabber,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. “When did ya—How long have we been here?”

“I dunno, you tell me.” Jabber says, voice with a tinge of reproach. “Looks like you got comfortable.”

Zanka sits up a little, careful not to wake his companion, “It’s not what it looks like.”

Jabber’s eyes flick toward Fu, then back to him. There’s something sharp in that look, not anger exactly, but the shadow of it, “You sure got a funny way of restin’ these days. Twice in a row, huh.” 

“Don’t start, please.” he groans.

That earns a soft, humorless sound from Jabbe, “Start what?”

“With yer bullshit. I know that face.”

“Do ya?” Jabber steps closer, the floorboards creaking under his shoes. His presence carries the faint smell of antiseptic and smoke, the remains of Eishia’s powers. “Do ya know me that well, Zan-zan?”

Zanka meets his gaze, a frown is evident on his still tired face, “No, I don’t. But after last night, anything is possible with ya."

“Little bang-banh girl wasn’t enough, it seems. What, you like collecting people as tokens? Didn’t take ya fo’ the type. I wonder when it will be my turn.”

“What are you even—?” Zanka stops, exhales through his nose. “Yer so annoying.”

Jabber’s expression softens just a fraction, but soon goes back to the weariness, “Fu almost killed me, ya know? I thought that’d earn me a visit or somethin’, but surprise to me, I woke up with no one there.”

Zanka’s gaze flicks toward the faint bruise still fading along Jabber’s cheek, then down to Fu’s head resting against his shoulder. “Hii is the one who fought you, not Fu.”

“That’s the bullshit sob story Fu loves to tell, ain’t it? That it wasn’t him.”

The blonde scoffs, “Learn to differentiate two people apart, would’ya? It ain’t that hard to recognize their autonomy."

Jabber’s jaw tightens, his hands curls into loose fists before he forces them to relax, “I don’t care, Zan-zan, Fu’s existence is barely but a speckle fo’ me. It shouldn’t be yer concern, either. Why do you care about weak people like him?”

Zanka’s mouth quirks faintly, challenging him, “Why can’t I? Because you say so?”

“No,” Jabber admits. His voice drops, the roughness giving way to something tired. “because you ain’t the type to care.”

Fu shifts in his sleep, a small sound escaping him, and his hand curls tighter on Zanka’s arm. The motion draws Jabber’s eyes like a magnet, and the coldness in them flickers, something close to hurt flashing beneath it.

“I wonder how long will ya keep denying me,” he says, smile crooked, “It’s okay, though, I can still wait fo’ ya. I can be patient.”

Jabber doesn’t let Zanka reply, already turning around and limping back from where he came from, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

The silence fills in slowly, buzzing with white noise as Zanka stays where he is, eyes fixed on the space Jabber left behind and a heaviness settling on his chest.

There are too many things running through his mind as he tries, once again, to make sense of another one of Jabber’s conversations. But every word felt like a puzzle missing half its pieces, always leading to more questions than answers which frustrates him. 

It’s not just the confusion that wears him down, but what the other man says, despite sounding so sincere with his intentions, causing the surge of emotions he doesn’t want to acknowledge.

Fu stirs next to him again, murmuring something incoherent in his sleep.

He leans his head back against the couch, eyes sliding shut again. He’s not ready to move just yet, despite exhaustion clinging to him just like Fu does, but there’s no peace to be found in rest, either. The steady reminder of what awaits him outside this moment, outside this room and the responsibilities he bears each day, wears him down.

Zanka exhales through his teeth, dragging a hand over his face. “I’m in so much trouble,” he mutters. The words come out rough, half a joke, half a confession, but they land heavier than he means them to.

Three days. That’s how long it’s been since Corvus introduced Jabber as their new addition, three days of chaos and emotion tearing through him harder than anything since the times at the Hell Guard’s academy. He doesn’t know what’s coming next, not for him, not for the team. But whatever it is, it’s going to push him to the edge.

Whether things eventually fall into place, or he completely loses his mind, remains to be seen.

Because by the time he realizes Jabber’s promises weren’t just empty words, everything is already set into motion.

Sending Jabber off on missions with the new formations the Boss’ had proposed drew exactly the reactions Zanka expected.

Fu went quiet at first, fear written all over his face, even when he tried to hide it. He never spoke against the decision, but Zanka could feel the tremor in the air whenever Fu looked at Jabber, terrified. 

It took Riyo a long while to calm him down, reassuring him that with her leading them to Fu’s first mission as an official cleaner and controlling Jabber if anything were to go awry, all was going to be okay. 

In the end it did go well. 

According to Tomme’s report, Jabber and Hii had gone ballistic with the trash beasts while on patrol on the borders in the nearest town. 

Riyo was smart enough to drive Jabber’s bloodthirst into a competition against Hii for a goal none of them dared to disclose. The mission wrapped without a single casualty, and everyone came back in one piece. Riyo didn’t even need to lift a finger; she was perfectly happy watching from the sidelines with the supporters as the two men tore through their targets.

When Zanka tries to ask both Riyo and Fu how they managed to tame him, he gets mixed reactions. 

Riyo acts smug, as if she discovered the meanings of the world, and waves him off with a mischievous smile. Fu, on the other hand, can’t help but burst into a jittery mess, blushing, stammering, and bolting before Zanka could press for details. The poor guy knew that if Zanka demanded answers, he’d spill everything, and he wasn’t about to let that happen.

If there was any kind of animosity after the assignment, Riyo never comments on it. 

When team Eager steps in as the next rotation a few days later, Delmon was openly reluctant to partner with Jabber. His resentment toward anyone tied to the raiders ran deep, and he had every reason for it. Those people had nearly killed his family, the Cleaners, and now he was expected to trust one of them without so much as a proper explanation. 

Tamsy, though, was another story. He seemed more than delighted to have Jabber onboard, curiosity practically radiating off him as he bombarded the ex-raider with questions about his past and his skills, but Jabber never offered more than what was already obvious. That only made Tamsy more curious, declaring that figuring Jabber out would be his personal mission.

No one was eager to see how that would turn out.

Days passed by as the teams continued to rotate, tension shifting and reshaping with every new pairing. Jabber adapted with each new mission and assignment laid on him with ease.

No matter who he was paired with, he learned their rhythms fast. How they moved, how they struck, how they faltered. It was uncanny, the way he slipped into formation as if he’d trained with them for years. 

His own style was chaotic, all sharp edges and raw strength with Mankira as his eternal partner, but he shaped it to fit the people around him now. When Rudo preferred distance, Jabber fought close-combat; when Hii charged in headfirst, he matched pace without hesitation.

Somewhere between his raider past and the insignia of a Cleaner now stitched to his uniform, Jabber had learned where to draw the line in restraining his own needs.

The others began to notice, too. Slowly, the tension in the air started to ease.

At first, it was small things: Enjin throwing him a grin after a good clearance, Riyo actually laughing at one of his offhand comments, even Fu daring to meet his gaze without flinching…much. Delmon stayed cold for a while, but even he couldn’t deny Jabber’s reliability in the field. He might be reckless, but he was their kind of reckless now.

Jabber fought like a man haunted, every movement fueled by something he couldn’t shake. He was still a masochist at heart; pain was comfort, chaos was clarity. He could tear through trash beasts for hours, painting the dirt with their dust, and yet when the last one fell, it was never enough. The itch lingered, the urge to feel a real fight, a human fight, was there.

After each mission, when the adrenaline still burned in his veins, he sought Zanka out, like a puppy trailing after his master. He’d corner him in the hallways, at the training grounds, anywhere he could catch him long enough to speak.

“Come on, Zan-zan,” he’d say with that half-crazed grin, “why won’t you indulge me?”

“Leave me alone.” 

Jabber sighs, leaning in and cocking his head to the side, “Aren’t you proud of me? I’ve been behaving, man.”

Zanka scoffs, “You have some nerve to ask me that.”

“One can try.” he shrugs. Zanka rolls his eyes.

“Good job, then, happy?”

Jabber hums, not fulfilled, but satisfied enough, “Very much, dear.”

And Jabber would watch him leave every time as his shoulders trembled with all the pent-up energy. He’d laugh to himself, low and bitter, and later then occupy his mind with baseless training until his knuckles turned purple and the muscles around his wrists were inflamed.

As Eishia tended to his injuries, scolding him and begging him to please stop hurting himself, Jabber thinks he can try and manage it. The urges were growing stronger with each passing day, he knew that much, but if it meant Zanka would keep looking his way, would stop avoiding him, then he could try to hold himself together for as long as he needed.

The breaking point comes when the next assignment goes through.

The majority of supporters were already deployed with a few of the cleaners to polluted zones when Semiu delivers the reports to Jabber. 

A quick patrol and disposing of wandering trash beasts between the polluted zone and No man’s land is what was needed. He could easily pull it off as a one man mission if the place wasn’t so far away. 

“Make Enjin drive you, he hasn’t been assigned anything yet.” is all she says, returning to her magazine. Jabber peaks at the open pages, wondering what picks her interest in women's naked bodies, since he didn’t find anything alluring in them. He was more of a supporter for lean and thin bodies with muscles in the arms; like Zanka’s. Semiu seems to sense his staring, because she raises a brow, gazes locking, “What, do you want one of these?”

Jabber shakes his head, “Nah, not really into chicks.”

The corner of Semiu’s mouth twitches into a faint smile, “Hm, figured.”

It doesn’t take long to find Enjin. His whole self sprawled across a couch in the resting room, half-asleep and drooling on his sleeve.

Jabber kicks the couch once, twice. When that doesn’t work, he kicks harder until Enjin groans awake.

“Up,” Jabber says, grabbing his arm and hauling him to his feet.

Still lethargic, Enjin stumbles along as Jabber drags him through the dim hallways and down to the lower levels of the headquarters.

By the time they reach the jeep, Enjin’s barely managed to open both eyes, “You could try being a little more gentle next time,” he mutters, starting the engine. “What the fuck kind of wake-up call was that?”

“Yer thicker than a wall, man. Only a kick in the nuts would do it faster.”

Enjin grunts something that might’ve been an insult, but lets it go.

The drive takes a couple of hours. The desert blurs by, endless piles of trash and rust-colored wind increase in number the closer to the polluted zones they get. The radio offers nothing but static and the occasional old songs bleeding through the noise. Jabber stares out at the horizon, lost in his own head, while Enjin keeps his eyes on the road.

When they finally park and exit the vehicle, Jabber surveys the surroundings as he straps the mask on his face. 

Both begin walking, stepping into the maze that the dump has become. 

Mountains of garbage rise around them like twisted structures, shadows stretching long between towers of corroded metal and melted plastic. The wind carries the faint hiss of shifting debris, whispering through broken bottles and torn sheets of tin. Every few meters, something creaks or collapses under its own weight, sending small avalanches of junk tumbling into the narrow path ahead.

Enjin grunts as the base of his boot catches on a piece of rusty metal. Jabber doesn’t bother when his own shoes tear on the sides or get scratched by broken glass. His eyes move constantly, scanning the heaps for movement or any anomaly. 

They don’t make themselves wait. The first trash beast crawls out from under a pile of crushed machinery, a grotesque mass of wire working as a skeleton with scraps of fabric clinging like a skin. Behind it, more follow, dragging themselves free from the garbage, eyes glowing faintly.

Jabber doesn’t wait. He flexes his hands, a bubbling giggle making it past his lips as Mankira shifts with a metallic snarl until his fingers end covered by the steel claws. The sound cuts through the still air, sharp and cold, as Jabber lounges at them with a maniac laugh.

Claws rip through the nearest beast, sending shards of metal flying in the air and turning into dust by the time it falls onto the floor. Enjin joins him a heartbeat later, flicking open his umbrella in one smooth motion as the beast intends to hurt him. Level headed, the blonde lets his Jinki do the job for him by rotating the shaft. Umbreaker’s panels spin like deadly blades, tearing the trash beast apart in an instant and into rubbish.

Together, they carve through the pack. Claw and blade, steel and power. The beasts crumble under their blows, breaking apart into clouds of grey dust that drift into the wind when they reach the last of it.

Jabber cracks his shoulder, stretching his arms wide as a grin spreads across his face. "Too easy," he mutters, a certain cockiness in his tone, as if the battle had been nothing but a warm-up.

Enjin twirls Unmbreaker until it folds back into its harmless umbrella form. He rests it on his shoulder, eyeing Jabber. “Don’t say that,” he warns, “The dump’s always got something worse waiting.”

Jabber shrugs, unbothered, his grin wide under the mask, “Nothing I can’t handle.”

That earns him a roll of Enjin’s eyes, a familiar gesture of exasperation that Jabber never seems to tire of.

Jabber glances around, narrowing his eyes, "Suppose’ that’s all."

He starts walking, but after a few paces, he realizes nothing looks familiar. The twisted, broken landscape of junk has all started to blur together, each pile of scrap and forgotten machine indistinguishable from the next.

“Wait…” he mutters, looking over his shoulder. Enjin’s already following, but there’s a shift in his step.

“Fuck man, are we lost?” Enjin asks dryly.

Jabber scratches the back of his neck, “Nah, just… off track. Maybe if we go here...”

But as they turn, the path seems to stretch on farther than before, each turn and pile of trash only leading them deeper into the maze. The heat presses in harder now, the air thick and sticky, like the land itself is trying to swallow them whole.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Enjin mutters, his eyes scanning the endless piles. 

Jabber feels the frustration creeping in. He tries to retrace his steps, but the terrain just seems to twist and shift with each step, as though mocking him.

“Should’ve brought a map,” Jabber mutters.

Enjin sighs, glancing at him. “Since when did you learn to read maps, you dumbass?”

“Never,” Jabber admits, looking at the piles of metal and garbage.

There’s something off in the atmosphere. Something he can’t quite place, like being watched, analyzed. He is not the only one who notices as he sees Enjin tense up and the grip on Umbreaker tightens. 

A voice cut through the still air, startling both men, “You always did have a terrible sense of direction, Jabber.”

Zodyl steps from the piles of garbage, unfazed. His stare is cold, cutting through the air as he scrutinizes both Jabber and Enjin from where he stands.

Jabber feels a chill run down his spine. It’s a sensation he hasn’t felt in a long time, but it ignites something; an old, familiar thirst for a fight, the kind that’s been smoldering deep inside him. He can’t help but grin, that dark excitement creeping onto his face.

“Zodyl,” he can’t help the excitement when he mutters his old boss’ name, “Didn’t think I’d see your face again.”

The other man cocks his head to the side, his gaze narrowing slightly. “You’ve been busy. As a Cleaner, nonetheless. Are you done playing pretend?”

Jabber’s grin under the mask widens, “I’m not pretending. I’m a cleaner now!”

“Is that so?” His voice is cool, almost detached. “Then so be it.”

Without another word, Jabber lunges forward, fueled by a surge of primal instinct for violence of someone who has restrained for a long time. His fists tear through the air as Mankira, lethal and sharp, tries to strike Zodyl’s face.

But Zodyl wasn’t there to be hit.

He moves with infuriating grace, each dodge deliberate, each sidestep just enough to make Jabber’s claws skim past him. It’s like he’s not even trying, a fluidity in his every motion that makes Jabber’s attacks feel wild and clumsy. His rage builds, and he swings harder, faster, teeth gritted as Mankira howls through the air.

Jabber’s laugh echoes as he unleashes Mankira’s full form, this time with the whole intention to kill him. Zodyl doesn’t even use his Jinki once, though. It’s not even necessary as all he does is dodge and wait, studying him, seizing his opportunity as he watches him burn himself out.

Jabber lunges again, trying to grab him this time, but Zodyl twists aside, catching his wrist mid-strike. The motion is so fluid, so casual, it leaves Jabber momentarily stunned. And then—

A crack.

The sound of bone giving way rips through the sudden silence. Jabber’s scream follows a heartbeat later as Zodyl lands another vicious punch, snapping the bone in his wrist like a twig. The next thing Jabber feels is the brutal force of Zodyl’s boot slamming into his ribs, sending him flying backwards. His body crashes into the ground with a sickening thud, rolling until it comes to a stop at Enjin’s feet.

The blonde steps in front of Jabber’s trembling form, his Jinki vibrating between his fingers with power, “That’s enough, ain’t it?”

Zodyl turns his gaze on him for a brief second. Jabber groans as he tries to incorporate and his attention shifts, “This isn’t your fight, Cleaner. This is a business of treachery."

He takes one step with Umbreaker drawn, “Maybe not. But I’m not letting you hurt him anymore. Nor am I letting you take him away.”

“Jabber has made his stance clear, we’re not taking him back, but ending things here.”

Jabber groans, his body trembling from the pain, but he lifts his head slightly, eyes widening in excitement at Zodyl.

“Yeah? Then you’ll fight me for it.”

Zodyl regards him for a long moment, weighing the choice. Then he exhales softly and steps back, the tension bleeding from his stance.

“Next time we face each other, there won’t be any hesitation.” he says, calm and certain. “I’ll go after the one who made you weak, for the fault in your disloyalty stems from him.”

The words hit Jabber like a punch to the gut, and the clear image of Zanka’s face flashes through his mind. The thought churns his insides, filling him with a hot, sudden fury. He snarls, his vision narrowing, trying to push himself up despite the pain. Zodyl takes a final, indifferent glance at him and turns, walking away.

And just like that, he is gone. As if he’s never been there.

Enjin immediately drops to his knees beside Jabber’s trembling form assessing the damage. The man was barely conscious, blood streaking down his face, and arm bent at an angle it shouldn’t be alongside his broken wrist. Even now, his mouth twitches like he wants to laugh through the pain but the anger overrides it.

“Idiot,” Enjin mutters, hauling him up carefully. “You just had to fight him, didn’t you?”

Jabber doesn’t answer. Instead, a broken sound leaves his lips, somewhere between a chuckle and a groan, as Enjin slings him over his shoulder.

“Stab me,” Jabber mutters weakly.

Enjin raises an eyebrow. "Don’t start with your stupid masochist shit. This ain’t the moment for that."

Jabber shakes his head, his vision blurry, “The neurotoxins on the right claw... it helps. Stab me with it.”

With a long, heavy sigh, Enjin helps Jabber lean against a pile of debris. He gently takes Jabber’s broken wrist, and the man whines in pain. But then, a soft moan escapes him, making Enjin look at him with a mix of disgust and disbelief.

"Heh… oops."

"Yer such a freak," Enjin mutters, rolling his eyes.

The claw digs into his chest lightly, just enough to let the toxin seep into his bloodstream. A quiet hiss leaves his lips as the neurotoxin begins its work, numbing the pain and easing the tension in his body.

Enjin watches, grimacing as Jabber’s body relaxes, muscles going slack, his breathing slowing.

But before Enjin can even check if Jabber’s okay, the world seems to darken around the ex-raider. The last thing he hears is the faintest murmur from Enjin:

“Shit... don't pass out on me now...”

Then everything goes black.

When Jabber wakes up, the world comes back to him in small fragments of memories and sounds.

He blinks, the ceiling swimming into focus through bleary eyes, and for a while he just lies there, staring at nothing. There is no pain, much to his dismay, but the faint feeling that every part of his limbs were in one piece and fixed up. Eishia must have healed him already while he was unconscious, making sure nothing was at odds before letting him rest.

Jabber turns his head when he sees something shift next to him. A still shape, quiet, outlined against the dull white of the infirmary walls. For a second he thinks he is dreaming of the person. 

The neurotoxins are still working on his body, dulling his senses and numbing his thought processing, it could be the secondary effects of the drug making him hallucinate the figure.

He blinks once, twice, to confirm it’s just that, a creation of his mind, but then his gaze clears, and there, sitting on a chair, one leg crossed above the other and an open book between thick and long fingers, is none other than Zanka.

His expression is calm, unreadable, eyes moving across the page as if nothing in the world could disturb him. The soft sound of paper turning feels impossibly loud in the hush of the room.

Jabber stares, afraid to blink, afraid the image will dissolve if he does. Then, without thinking, he jerks upright, too fast for his brain to catch up to what's happening. The bed frame groans in protest, and the movement sends a wave of dizziness crashing through him.

Zanka startles, nearly dropping the book. His head snaps up, eyes wide, and for a moment, they just look at each other, both caught off guard and equally unprepared.

“…Zanka?” Jabber’s voice cracks, rough but laced with something rawer than surprise.

Zanka swallows, straightening in his chair, “You’re awake,” he says, too quickly, voice tight at the edges. He fumbles to close the book, his fingers trembling just enough to betray him. “Good. I’ll, uh… go get Eishia.”

He stands abruptly, avoiding Jabber’s gaze as he turns toward the door.

Jabber’s hand shoots out, his fingers brushing Zanka’s sleeve before gripping his wrist. The touch is weak, almost desperate, but it’s enough to stop him from fleeing.

For a long moment, neither of them breathes. Jabber can feel the heat of Zanka’s wrist beneath his palm and feel the pulse quicken under his touch.

“You should rest,” Zanka says finally, voice quieter now. He doesn’t look back, doing his best to avoid his gaze.

Jabber doesn’t let go. His grip tightens, barely, “You’re here…”

Zanka flinches, hesitating whether to answer or feign deafness. When he finally decides to turn, his eyes meet Jabber’s, and in that look, everything he’s trying to hide cracks.

There’s fatigue, guilt, and underneath it all, relief.

Jabber’s heart stutters. The words that come next scrape out of his throat, fragile and bare, it sounds odd, “Why?”

Zanka’s breath catches, and for a second, his mask slips completely. The book trembles slightly in his hand, his gaze flicking down to where Jabber’s fingers still hold him. His reply comes in a voice barely above a whisper, flustered.

“Because I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

The words hang there, soft and sharp at once. Jabber’s fingers loosen, but he doesn’t let go. Zanka’s hand doesn’t move away either.

For the first time in what feels like forever, neither of them knows what to say next.

Zanka’s words still hang in the air, too soft to vanish, too heavy to ignore. Jabber stares up at him, his throat tight, the fog in his head thick but not enough to drown the warmth that starts to spread through his chest.

It’s an odd feeling, something he hasn’t ever felt in his life. It tugs his heart in the weirdest way and makes his belly twist uncomfortably, but not in the kind whenever he fights and gets overwhelmed with lust; something further away, something…kinder.

With no way to understand his sluggish brain, he decides to act on his impulses instead. He gives a weak tug on Zanka’s wrist, “Sit,” he murmurs, pleading.

Zanka looks at the empty chair, then back at Jabber. There’s a war playing behind his eyes, panic trying to overcome the command, but in the end, he nods. Without pulling free, he sits back down beside the bed, the motion deliberate, careful not to jostle the fragile link between them.

Jabber lets out a low hum of satisfaction and sinks back against the mattress, his head turning toward him. His hand still holds Zanka’s wrist, the grip slackening a little as the weight of exhaustion begins to pull him under again.

Zanka stays silent, eyes fixed on some distant point on the wall. But when Jabber shifts his hand, fumbling clumsily in the space between them, Zanka doesn’t move away. Their fingers brush once, twice, then, almost shyly, they intertwine.

It’s a hesitant touch. Zanka’s fingers are cold, his pulse quick beneath the skin. Jabber’s grip is weak, lazy from the remnants of the neurotoxin, but he smiles, a small, uneven thing that softens the lines of his face.

“Didn’t think you’d come around,” he mutters, eyes half-lidded, his voice fading into a tired rasp.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Zanka glares at him without any real heat behind. His thumb brushes unconsciously against the back of Jabber’s hand, cheeks taking a soft pink color, “Just rest,” he says quietly. “You talk too much.”

Jabber chuckles, a faint sound that turns into a sigh. His hand tightens around Zanka’s just enough to let him know he’s there, just enough to keep him from slipping away.

Zanka doesn’t pull free, but holds him tighter.

And as Jabber’s breathing slows, sinking back into uneasy sleep, Zanka’s gaze finally rests on him without shame.

Their hands remain tangled, still and warm in the cold hum of the infirmary.