Chapter Text
“You're reading the same book again?" Rudo asked, looking at Zanka like he committed a crime.
"Yeah, why?” Zanka didn't find anything wrong with it, he lifted his gaze off the page and fixed it on the younger boy.
“How many times have you re-read it since you got it last week?"
“Once or twice…"
Rudo said nothing, quietly staring at him.
“Six times…”
Six times? This was worse than Rudo imagined; he couldn't help asking again, "What's so good about it?"
“You wouldn't know, you don't read."
“I would if you let me borrow it."
“Go get a copy yourself." Zanka looked away from Rudo and buried his nose back in his book. “Close the door on your way out."
Rudo sighed, exasperated, as he left Zanka's room. After a second's hesitation, he left the door wide open; Zanka didn't even notice, already immersed in his book.
The book, No Survivors, had been given to Zanka a week ago by a stranger in the park a few blocks away from their place. Zanka had been in his usual spot by the lake when a silver haired man took a seat on the bench next to him.
He’d sat in silence with him for a while, the two watching the calm surface of the lake painted orange with the dying rays of the sun. After a few moments, the man spoke in a quiet, airy voice, “Nice view, huh?"
Zanka was surprised by the sudden question, his head whipped around to face him. His eyes met silver orbs, even lighter than his hair, with silver lashes casting soft shadows on his eyes. A scar ran down the side of his face, but it didn't look out of place; instead accentuating the ethereality of his face. A gentle smile lined his lips, which were adorned with a simple stud on the lower lip. He was looking at Zanka expectantly, awaiting his reply. Zanka realized this after an awkwardly long time.
“Oh, uh, yeah."
“It's really nice," the man emphasized, then asked, “Do you read?"
“Huh?" The man was about to repeat his question when Zanka replied, “I do…”
Smiling, the man turned back to gaze at the lake. The sun had set now. "You do look like someone who'd enjoy a good read. Would you mind a recommendation?”
"You want to recommend me a book?” Zanka's eyebrows rose in mild surprise.
"Yeah, actually I have it here with me.” The man put his hand in his coat pocket and took out a book. The cover wasn't pristine, but it was obviously well-kept, with no signs of coarseness whatsoever. Zanka's eyes quickly glanced at the title: No Survivors. The color palette was mostly dark tones, making the title written in pastel particularly eye-catching.
There was no harm in getting a book to read for free, so Zanka took it without much thought. “Thanks."
The man nodded, “You're welcome." His mild expression never left his face the whole time. He looked like nothing could bring about even the slightest change in his emotions.
“I'm Zanka."
“Nice to meet you, Zanka." The man got up to leave, “It was nice talking to you."
Zanka watched the man leave without leaving so much as a name. He wondered if the man was going to come by again so he could return the book.
It had been a week now, and not once had the man shown up at the lake. Zanka went there everyday for the first three days, but the longer he had the book, the more he felt he couldn't part with the book even if the man wanted it back.
He'd soon started to hope the man would never show up, and so far, everything was going well.
Zanka raised his head to find that it'd gotten dark outside, and that his door had been left open. He scoffed softly at Rudo's obvious attitude and walked out the room, making sure to draw the door shut behind him.
Jabber sat atop a wall, gazing at the desolate wastelands that stretched beyond his sight. The wind, stale and stuffy, blew his locks into his eyes and he lifted a bloody hand to move it away. It had been a while since Tamsy died—or more accurately, left. He was about 70-80 percent sure his friend was in another world now. The other twenty to thirty percent chance was that he was actually dead. Jabber really hoped if that was the case, then at the very least, he was in heaven—if it existed. He really didn't want to face Tamsy in hell considering he was the one who killed—sent him away. He leaped off the wall and walked off into the wastelands.
Zanka walked into the lounge, where Enjin and Rudo were playing video games. Riyo was curled up on the couch, scissors in hand, working on her cardboard artwork. Hearing him walk over, Enjin gestured with his chin towards the kitchenette and said, “Got takeout. Heat it up and have dinner.”
"Thanks.” Zanka placed the pizza in the microwave and sipped a soda as he waited.
Just then, Rudo lost the game. He tossed the controller onto the coffee table and turned toward Zanka. “I didn't think you'd come out tonight."
“Huh?"
“Your book?" Enjin asked, leaning back against the cushions.
“What about it?” Zanka tilted his head; he didn't understand what the two were talking about.
“Don't you think it's weird? You got this weird obsession with it." Rudo's red eyes narrowed, fixing Zanka in place with his glare.
“I'm not obsessed with it…” Zanka denied, rolling his eyes.
"Dude, you've read it six times in seven days.”
"Six times?!” Enjin exclaimed; he obviously hadn't heard before now. "You need to put that book down.”
Zanka stared at the duo silently, his expression placid as though he wasn't the one they were talking to. The microwave dinged softly, cutting through the tense atmosphere. Zanka, without a word, turned and took the pizza out of the microwave, leaving his back to the two.
Enjin and Rudo exchanged glances with each other. A week ago when Zanka got the book, he'd tried to tell them about it and about the mysterious silver haired man from the park, but none of them were very keen on books and didn't listen to him seriously.
They realized belatedly that they should've when Zanka forgot to eat in favor of reading his book. It got progressively worse; Zanka would take the book to class and not concentrate; he even got a D on a test because of it. Zanka never got D's.
By the time they really noticed, it had become a problem. They could only hope he grew tired of re-reading the same book at some point.
Zanka ate at the kitchen counter. He could tell his friends were worried about him, but he personally didn't think he was that obsessed with the book. He decided to hang out with them for a while to ease their worries.
“Can I play?” Zanka sat next to Rudo, sandwiching him between himself and Enjin. He took a controller from the coffee table and started a new round. Enjin played with him.
The trio played late into the night with Riyo working nearby; a lively sight, truly. Zanka realized he really had been drifting away from his friends without knowing it. He felt a sudden surge of gratitude at the warmth and genuine care they gave him, even feeling a bit undeserving.
Riyo went to bed first, then Rudo, leaving Enjin and Zanka in the lounge. After a moment of quiet, Enjin asked about the book. He genuinely wanted to know what had captivated Zanka so.
Zanka told him about it. It was an apocalyptic novel with some very gory imagery. Zanka described it as “beautifully disturbing” and that term disturbed Enjin in turn. The protagonist was a young man called Jabber.
His greatest strength was his innate immunity to toxins—neurotoxins. He was immune to the toxins; he wouldn't die from using a new toxin on himself, but he would be affected by it until his body got used to it.
He'd fought against hordes of zombies in this way, testing toxins on himself and then using them to kill the zombies. He'd killed a lot of zombies, but the zombies had killed all of his friends too.
The last one was his best friend, Tamsy. Tamsy had gotten bit by a zombie and was bound to transform into one in five minutes. Jabber had injected him with toxins that would overpower the zombie infection and get rid of it, but Tamsy's body couldn't handle the painful onslaught of toxins.
He died, leaving Jabber all alone in a desolate world littered with the undead. Jabber continued to hunt down the zombies, ridding the world of them, but everyone was already dead; there was no world.
Enjin had been listening with rapt attention. “That's quite the story." He said after Zanka's narration. What he didn't say was, What's so good about it to re-read six times?
“Right?” Zanka recalled a certain detail and added, "The guy that gave me the book actually looks like Tamsy."
“What? Are there illustrations in the book?"
“No, but the description: Silver hair, silver eyes, lip piercing… He really does look exactly like Tamsy. Maybe he liked him so much he decided to adopt the look?”
"That's crazy.”
"It could've been cosplay.” Zanka shrugged, yawning with a stretch. He was getting sleepy. Enjin saw this and told him to go to bed. He got up as well. The two said their farewells and retreated to their rooms.
Zanka barely managed to change into his pajamas before he fell asleep.He awoke to a slight tickling on his jaw, a tickling he was going to ignore and turn over until he blearily opened his eyes and found someone staring down at him.
His mind cleared instantly, all traces of sleep disappearing from his gaze. He jolted upright, accidentally hitting his forehead against the other person's. He scurried backwards, “Who are you?!"
The stranger seemed to pout at his question, clearly displeased, "Wow, Zanka. You don't recognize me?”
"How'd you know my name?”
"ID.”
Zanka's eyes widened, "How long have you been in here?”
"A few minutes."
Zanka stared in disbelief at the stranger. There was an intruder in his room and he was asleep for several minutes. He hadn't known he was that deep of a sleeper.
“What do you want?"
“Hm? Nothing." The person shrugged, moving to sit on the bed.
“Then why are you here?"
“Well… I happened to appear here after I killed myself.”
Zanka stared blankly. Was this guy crazy?
"You… killed yourself," The man nodded, “And then managed to appear in my room of all places."
“Yeah."
“Are you insane?"
"No, I'm Jabber.” The man grinned, looking pleased at his own joke.
“Jabber?" Zanka paused, eyes scanning the other's face. For some reason, his face matched the exact description of Jabber from No Survivors. Even his clothes were the same. Was he a weird fan like the silvernette from the park?
“I'm Jabber." He nodded in affirmation.
Zanka's expression dimmed. What had he gotten himself into? First it was the guy from the park looking exactly like Tamsy, and now this… Jabber looking exactly like Jabber.
“You really are insane." He murmured. “Can you please leave?"
“Honestly, I'm surprised you've had this attitude towards a stranger in your house so far."
“I'm calm under pressure, I've been told."
"Maybe too calm.” Jabber smiled, flicking at his ring. Some sort of glove materialized on his hand from that single flick, bringing with it sharp metal claws that glinted in the dark. Zanka's breath caught, his eyes snapping up to Jabber's, which was now a bright glowing pink.
Jabber traced a claw down Zanka's face which was paralyzed in fear. “You… you're actually Jabber? How…?”
"I killed myself, just like I killed Tamsy.” He abruptly retracted the claws when he saw Zanka had finally believed him. His eyes went back to being a dark pink and he got up and walked to the desk in a corner, returning with the book in hand. He flipped to a page and handed it to Zanka.
Zanka's eyes skimmed through the page. He couldn't hold back his surprise, “It changed?"
Before, the book had clearly ended with Jabber roaming what was left of earth and killing zombies with no particular gain.
Now, though, it ended with Jabber constantly increasing the lethality of the toxins he gave himself, but his body kept adapting even faster. Eventually he stopped using the toxins, instead finding more creative ways to kill himself, from cutting open his wrists to drilling holes through himself with thin metal spikes. He'd ended up using a gun, though, he'd shot himself in the head.
Zanka looked up at him, “Did all this really happen?"
Jabber nodded wordlessly, looking in high spirits for someone who had put a bullet in his own head less than an hour ago.
“Didn't it hurt?" He shut the book and looked at Jabber, who had at some point sat next to him again. Jabber nodded
“It lasted for only a few seconds, though. I died really quickly.”
"You impaled yourself with multiple spikes.”
"Oh, that…" Jabber dragged out the ‘oh’, smiling, “That hurt.” He giggled at the memory.
Zanka felt that the version of Jabber he saw in the book was very different from the guy in front of him. This guy was actually insane. He knew Jabber had some masochistic tendencies from the book, but the book ending and what he was seeing now confirmed to him that it was beyond a matter of “tendencies".
“By the way, where'd you get the book?" Jabber's voice cut through Zanka's musings.
“From a guy at a park… He looked like Tamsy. Was he...?” Zanka could still hardly believe they were actually the real characters. The whole thing was beyond unbelievable. What did this all mean? Did all the characters that died in the book appear in the real world?
“Oh, Tamsy, huh?" Jabber mused, “Do you know where I can find him?"
Zanka shook his head.
“That's too bad. Mind letting me sleep here for a bit?"
"I do, actually.” Zanka's glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was almost 3 am.
Jabber laughed, kicking off his shoes and laying down. “Funnily enough, I don't care.”
He made an exaggerated show of taking up the covers. He generously lifted the corner in invitation, an infuriating smile on his lips. “Come now, Zanka. Sleep with me."
The “sleep with me" could not possibly be more innocent, but Zanka flushed at that. He angrily got off the bed and grabbed a different set of beddings for himself, quickly setting up a makeshift mattress on the ground and laid down.
Jabber's smile disappeared, “Tch, what bad attitude."
He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. Sleep didn't come to him, after all, he had been in an apocalyptic world for the past four years. His nerves were constantly on edge and there wasn't much rest to get. It would take a while for him to get used to a peaceful world. He soon fell into a dreamless haze between sleep and wakefulness.
Zanka sat up as soon as he heard Jabber's breaths even out. He carefully leaned against the edge of the bed and watched Jabber's sleeping face.
Zanka only liked the book No Survivors because of Jabber. He'd read a lot of books before and the protagonists were always “good people". No matter how flawed they were, deep down, they were good. Jabber was the only protagonist he'd ever encountered that was rotten to the core. He was insane, and everything he did wasn't for humanity's survival, but for his own. There were no rules binding him; no morality, no guilt— He was truly free.
Zanka silently wondered how that “freedom” felt. He absentmindedly twirled a lock of Jabber's hair around his finger, tracing the edge of the accessory that had been clipped onto it. His eyes traced across Jabber's face and unexpectedly met the other's gaze. He was awake? Zanka's face grew hot.
“What are you doing?" Jabber's voice was quiet and a little hoarse. Seemed he'd just woken up.
“Nothing." Zanka sat back on his heels.
“Do you want to lie on the bed? I can move over for you." Jabber "graciously" extended another invitation. Zanka pulled a face and declined. He laid back on the floor on pulled the blanket over his head indignantly.
Jabber let out an amused laugh, "He really does have a bad attitude.”
Zanka eventually managed to fall asleep. He slept quite deeply, even sleeping through his alarm. When he woke up, there was no sign of Jabber's presence. He'd left.