Chapter Text
Zanka refused to believe it.
He was on his way back to the Cleaners HQ after his daily patrol around a small village, located near a No Man’s Land, when he saw it. A human figure lying dead on the side of the road, leg crushed under what seemed to be a large, broken generator from the recent trash storm. Normally, Zanka would haul the body up and bring it back to HQ’s infirmary.
But this wasn’t normal.
Because even from meters away, Zanka recognized those long wicks spread apart and mismatched fit with three different shades of purple. That was only natural, given how many times Zanka's sleep replayed his defeats to him. Whenever he trained, the humiliation of losing to Jabber Wonger not once, but twice, ran inescapably through his blood.
He parked the Cleaner's van far enough that it wouldn’t be a casualty, but near enough to grab and flee, in case this was all an act, and grabbed Assistaff. His first step was cautious. Second, even more so. The steady rise and fall of Jabber’s chest indicated life, not death, but Zanka wouldn’t put it past a genius like him to perfectly fake unconsciousness.
The nearer he got, the more disbelief doused him. Dried blood stained the pavement surrounding Jabber’s leg, so much blood that Zanka wondered how he was even still alive. The generator was large, bigger than both of them combined, and it continued to weigh on Jabber’s leg every second. If Zanka didn’t do anything, Jabber’s leg would have to be amputated by the time help would come.
Zanka’s eyes narrowed, and he raised Assistaff. “Hey, freak.”
Jabber lay in blissful ignorance. Even if a genius like him were to fake unconsciousness, Zanka liked to believe even geniuses would react to the pain of their leg crushed under tons of weight. Jabber was only human, after all.
Just in case, he tried one more time. He nudged Jabber’s side with his staff. “Get up.”
When he got no reaction, he knelt. For a guy as strong as Jabber to die from a simple trash storm was unlikely. Zanka knew Jabber was strong enough to lift a generator, regardless of weight. Hell, this freak sought out pain for enjoyment.
Jabber Wonger dying like this was simply unheard of. And wouldn’t that manhole raider—Cthoni—be able to teleport and bring him back? Zanka peered at him, closer this time, and frowned at the broken choker. From a fight? A noticeable damp area spread through Jabber’s middle, and holding his breath, Zanka felt around it. Blood. Lots of blood. A large torso wound and crushed leg combined would be enough blood to kill any average Joe.
But the rise and fall of Jabber’s chest proved he was above that. That it would take more to kill a real, undeniable genius. A small voice in Zanka’s mind even whispered that if he were in Jabber’s place, he would certainly die within minutes.
Fuck this.
Zanka’s a cleaner, so he cleaned.
Bringing back Jabber Wonger to the Cleaner’s HQ caused the expected commotion.
An indestructible barrier allowed Zanka to pass through, but not Jabber. He used the chokers to inform his superiors of the situation, and Semiu herself stepped out of the HQ to inspect Jabber’s lifeless body in his trunk. It only took a second before a puzzled frown took over her features.
“... I’ll explain later,” Semiu muttered into her choker, and the barrier lifted. “Bring him to Eisha and call Enjin immediately. Do not leave him unattended.”
Hauling Jabber’s ass onto a stretcher took a bit of work, but Zanka would rather choke than show it. Eisha squeaked at the sight of them, and in no time, the entirety of team Akuta, Semiu, and the boss crowded into the infirmary like it was a fucking party. Healing Jabber was easy work for Eisha—bless her—and he was expected to wake up by tonight, but the air sombered as Semiu spoke.
“The raiders abandoned him.”
“What?!” Rudo burst. “But why?”
Enjin rested a hand on his shoulder. “Let her finish, Rudo.”
Semiu’s jaw clenched. “It’s difficult to discern why, but he certainly feels some betrayal. He believes he was abandoned, but that isn’t to say he actually was.”
“Ya think it’s a ploy?” said Zanka, arms crossed.
“Perhaps. We can’t trust raiders so easily.”
“If he were abandoned, then we should help him,” piped up Rudo, ever so earnest and heroic. Sometimes, Rudo pissed Zanka off—made him look bad for being logical instead of altruistic.
Riyo hummed. “Eh, but if it is a ploy? Zodyl might have a giver who can alter memories. Or, use this as a chance to gain information on the Cleaners.”
“But what if he was abandoned?” Rudo argued back. “We can’t just leave him. I know he defeated Zanka twice—” Zanka fought to keep his face composed. What the fuck. “—but we can’t let a powerful giver like him just roam around.”
A beat of silence passed around the room. Rudo’s reasoning screamed naivety, but no one contested him for some damn reason. Sometimes, Zanka envied the magnetic pull Rudo had. All the geniuses he encountered had a similar aura that made people want to listen to them.
Tamsy clapped his hands with a serene smile. “I might have to agree with dear Rudo here. We could use this as an opportunity to extract information on the raiders, don’t you think?”
“Yeah!” Rudo grinned at him, and Tamsy grinned back—although Zanka didn’t trust him. “I knew you’d back me up.”
“Unusually naive of ya, Tamsy,” said Zanka while staring him in the eye. Ever since their encounter with Amo, remembering the way Tamsy had chosen to injure their team without a second thought, as if he had been waiting to do so, Zanka’s guard had risen.
Tamsy turned to him, eyes curved into crescent slits. “It’d be even more naive to let crucial information go, wouldn’t it?”
A beat; neither backing down. Until,
“Rudo’s right,” Corvus said, the authority in his voice effortlessly blanketing the air in a hush. “The Cleaners will temporarily hold him in custody; make sure at least one giver keeps watch on him at all times—” Corvus’ gaze scanned them before landing on him. “Zanka?”
“Me?” Zanka’s stomach fluttered. Corvus thought he was strong enough to monitor Jabber Wonger? Alone? Not even Enjin?
“You have the most experience with him.” Corvus smiled before adding, “And, of course, because you are strong.”
Eisha had assured them that Jabber wouldn’t be strong enough to fight anyone when he woke up. His battered leg would take time to heal, leaving him limping for the time being, but Zanka knew Jabber’s power. They considered taking away Mankira, but decided not to in case it’d cause more hostility. Nobody would want their vital instrument away from them.
The restrictions they had on Jabber were lax as hell. Rudo and Riyo left to do their own missions, and Enjin left with a singsong “Call me!”. It’s as if they trusted him to take on Jabber alone, like they believed he was strong enough that he didn’t need help. Even the boss believed in him.
Zanka leaned on the nearest exit in the infirmary, watching, assessing Jabber’s unconscious form as he gripped on Assistaff.
It happened in less than a second.
Jabber’s eyes snapped open. Mankira extended from his ringers, and he pricked himself with his left claw before he jumped off the bed and stood at full height, breathing labored and wild. Zanka already had Asisstaff on Jabber’s neck.
“Sit down.”
Jabber’s hot pink eyes darted around the infirmary before settling on him. He must have used a poison to dull the pain in his leg and torso; Zanka anticipated this.
“You,” rasped Jabber, although he seemed out of it. “Bad boy?”
“Remove your claws and sit down.”
Jabber stared at him, assessing, before his gaze drew down the line of Assistaff and how its tips curled around Jabber’s neck.
“Oh,” Jabber breathed out. “Oh, man.” A freakish noise came out of Jabber’s mouth, one Zanka chose to ignore for both of their sakes. “Ohh, man. Oh, man. Oh, man. Lovely Assistaff. Bad boy.”
Zanka ground his teeth at the ignored orders. He tried a different approach. “Ya know where you are?”
“Cleaner’s HQ!” Jabber shrieked, gaze curiously taking in every detail of the infirmary, Mankira still extended and poisonous. The guy had just woken up, but he was already at full energy—Zanka expected nothing less.
“Bet you had a meeting about me, huh? I can smell them. Everyone. Ohh, man.” Jabber crooned, leaning his cheek onto the curve in between Assistaff’s two points. “Wish I were awake. To know I was surrounded by big, strong cleaners while I was helpless and unconscious—”
Zanka shoved the staff against Jabber’s neck, backing him up until his back thudded against the wall. Jabber seemed to be running on pure adrenaline alone, and whatever his left claw had going on. At least ten more minutes until Jabber's injuries caught up to him.
“I don’t think you know your situation,” Zanka murmured, trapping Jabber’s neck between the wall and the ends of his staff. “Remove your claws; I won’t repeat this.”
Silence. Then Jabber bit his lip, a strange blush on his cheeks. “You don’t know how much I missed you, Zan-zan.”
Zanka fought to keep his face composed. What?
“I can tell you got stronger,” Jabber continued, eyes half lidded as they focused on the curves of Assistaff. Something in Zanka’s stomach jumped. “You’ve been training, huh? Backing me up against the wall while I’m injured and weak. Oh, man. I think I’m throbbing. This is a dream—”
Zanka backed off, face scrunched in disgust as Jabber chased after the weight of his staff.
Stronger? Jabber could tell he got stronger? How?
“I can just tell, man,” Jabber replied, and Zanka fought the embarrassment of speaking out loud. Jabber took a step forward with his right leg before wincing—about time. He reached out to spread his palms around Zanka’s forearms instead. He held his breath. “You gained more muscle around here.” Jabber’s palms slid, slowly, up to his shoulders. “And these got wider. Fabric’s tighter on the shoulders, ya’know?”
That—made sense. Zanka focused his workouts on his upper body. Naturally, they would harden out. Naturally. His cleaner’s attire showed his silhouette, but was it really tight enough to be obvious? And why the hell was Jabber Wonger, of all people, the first person to notice?
“I don’t think this is getting through your head.” Zanka grabbed Jabber’s wrists to shove them off, the latter letting out a delighted noise as he buzzed. “I found you bleedin’ to death by the road and took your ass back here. You’re injured and surrounded by Cleaners; by tonight you’ll be tellin’ us about the raiders.”
It was when Jabber bit his bottom lip, pupils dilating into a bright glint, did Zanka realized his mistake. “Yeah? Will you force it out of me? Torture me for info?”
A beat passed between them. Jabber leaned forward, taunting, obviously picking a fight, and as much as Zanka yearned to beat his ass, today was not the day. Fighting an injured genius would only make him look bad, and he had an assignment at hand.
Zanka cut the tension.
“You genuinely,” he exhaled through his nose, “make me sick.”
“Ehh…”
Jabber leaned back, face soured into boredom. “Making all those promises and you’re just gonna—” he gestured to all of Zanka. “Keep barking?”
“Fuck you mean, barking?”
“Like I said, barking. You deaf?” Jabber huffed as he sat cross-legged on one of the beds. His shoulders slouched, and the tips of his claws fidgeted with the gauze of his torso wound absentmindedly, a small glimpse of blood already teetering through the cloth. He drawled, “Saying you’d interrogate me all night, then run away when it gets to the real shit. That’s boring. You’re boring.”
“Hey…” Zanka lowered his voice. “Ya mocking me?”
“Yeah. You ain’t gonna do anything about it anyway. ‘Cause you’re bo-ring.”
He ground his teeth, a vein in his temple heating up by the second. Maybe it was the scorching heat, the stress of everything, or the weight of Jabber’s singsong “bo-ring!” that hit a sore spot. A reminder of Jabber’s words back then, reminiscent of an all too familiar: “Maybe I could have had more fun if I'd fought a different cleaner.”
But before he could reply, it happened again in less than a second; Jabber’s speed was unmatched. It was futile for the Cleaners to think a simple injury could slow down a genius, especially one of Jabber’s caliber. Maybe it was Zanka’s ego that prompted him to accept the role of monitoring Jabber, to take the task alone because he overestimated himself again.
It all became apparent when Jabber’s speed while injured needed a bit of Zanka’s effort to keep up.
Jabber had slashed at him with Mankira, extended, but not fully like the time he had gone all out. Zanka managed to dodge by the breath of his hair, twisting his staff around Jabber’s arm to pin him to the bed as the freak cackled manically.
“That was fast, Zanka-kun,” Jabber purred. “So fast. I knew all you needed was a push.”
Jabber shoved him off, jumping back to cling onto the walls like some kind of fucking spider, claws digging into the pristine white concrete.
“Smart of you to drain out my poisons!” Jabber said before swinging a claw back, as if charging up, and slammed it right into the wall. Debris flew about as a massive hole emerged. Zanka managed to grab onto the back of Jabber’s neck before Jabber hurled them out of the building, the latter hollering wildly as Zanka’s mind ran haywire to find a way to break their fall.
“Boo-hoo!” Jabber giggled, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks. “I don’t insert my poisons, Zan-zan. I make them. From within. Meaning—!” He jabbed his claws into his own injured stomach, a gargled choke forced out of his mouth as he dug it deeper and deeper that the tips peeked out of his back.
“You sick shit,” Zanka spat, using the curves of his staff to cling onto an open window; knuckles white as the other hand gripped Jabber's neck. They dangled from the HQ’s second story like sorry asses, but before he could hurl Jabber into the building, the little fucker extended his claws to swipe at Zanka’s hand holding onto the staff. He yelled, grip lost, and they crashed onto the ground.
Jabber groaned as he rolled onto his back.
“Oh, Zanka-kun. I’m so, so happy.”
Zanka winced. His ankle bent at an odd angle, and a pounding pain spread across his left leg that took most of the fall damage. Luckily, Assistaff fell on a thick bush that cushioned its fall.
“I’m really, really, really, really excited.”
Jabber got up on all fours, breath wet and heavy as he grinned at Zanka.
“I’m so glad you caught me, Zanka-kun. You’re so fast. I knew you were fast.”
Jabber was already on his feet, stomach bleeding and leg absolutely battered. He must be running on pure adrenaline. There’s no way. Even someone like Enjin would be out of commission in that state. There’s just no fucking way.
It wasn’t like Zanka was done. No, he still had a lot in him. Jabber barely hit him, but it felt like they pulled teeth and nails for an hour straight—mentally. He grabbed onto his staff. Half of the damage Jabber dealt to the building would come straight out of Zanka’s monthly paycheck.
“Heyy, now.” Jabber hunched over, dreads slung over to one side as his eyes twinkled. “You think I’d let you catch me that easy? Heh.”
He’s high.
Larger than normal pupils, heavy breathing, dazed, and a slight shiver. This was the extent of Jabber's strength in this state; formidable, but not something Zanka could not handle. His movements were more sluggish, less thoughtful, very unlike the precision he witnessed from before.
“Alright.”
Zanka spun Assistaff between his fingers. Jabber’s eyes absolutely glistened at the sight, screaming about how this was what he had been waiting for: serious mode. But Zanka gained no pride from a win like this. His first win against an injured genius would hit his pride worse than a real fair loss.
“I ain’t gonna fight ya for real like this,” said Zanka. “It ain’t right.”
Jabber’s grin dropped, replaced by a long, annoying whine that shrilled his ears. “Ehh?”
“The poison’s weaker,” Zanka muttered into his choker. “Still a pain in the ass, but I don’t think he can go all out.”
Enjin’s static voice emerged from his choker, “Cool!” and disappeared. Then, as if he only remembered to do so, his voice came back, “Oh, and make sure to clean the raider up, yeah? You’ll interrogate him, too.”
Zanka paused. “What?”
“Uhh, Boss said he trusts you. ‘Cause you know him best and all that. Y’know what to ask; you’re smart, Zanka!”
And Enjin’s gone.
Zanka focused back on Jabber, who’s been mumbling to himself, fingers twiddling with the bloody gauze wrapped around his waist. Yeah, he could do this. He’s smart, Enjin said. Sometimes, Enjin knew his capabilities more than he did himself.
“After getting me all riled up, man,” Jabber muttered, a pool of blood surrounding him like Cthoni’s manholes. “I’m so fucking turned on. I’m finally weak and bothered, and you don’t wanna fight me? Why? Do I need to push you more?”
Zanka tightened the grip on his staff.
One hit.
He’ll put his all into one hit, and it’ll be finished.
“Oh?” Jabber perked up. “Fighting again?” His smile grew back, claws extending once more. “Man! You blue-ballin’ me?”
Zanka charged forward, Assistaff in his grip, and swung at Jabber’s knees, right where his injured leg was, but Jabber was fast. He jumped up, cackling, but Zanka spent every night studying geniuses. His purpose was to surpass geniuses as an average Joe—he didn’t have the right to expect fights to go his way, not when he was against the real deal.
He anticipated Jabber’s jump, twisting his body to slash at Jabber’s torso while sticking a leg out to disrupt his landing.
But the difference between an average Joe and a genius was that geniuses pioneered fields. Average Joes learned to surpass geniuses, while geniuses learned to surpass themselves. Too caught up predicting conventional moves, Zanka only had a second left to dodge as Jabber grabbed at his head, claws slashing at split hairs.
Jabber preened. “Oh, you fast-fast!”
“If you geniuses got time to laugh—” Zanka slashed at Jabber’s stomach midair and used the momentum to slam him to the ground, a deafening crash ringing throughout the area as Jabber landed onto hard concrete. “—then you ain’t fighting right.”
Jabber shuddered out a deep groan, hands clasped around his stomach as he curled into himself. “Ow, ow, oww. That hurt! You a sadist, man?”
Zanka let out a breath. “No shit. If ya just acted right, I wouldn’t have had to do this.”
“Oh, Zan-zan,” Jabber started singing, murmuring to himself as he rubbed at his torso. Then, as if things couldn’t get any more bizarre, giggles ruptured out of him, and Zanka frowned—how was this guy still conscious? “Ohh, Zanka-kun. You’re so great. So fun.”
“Shut up, you sick fuck.”
Zanka knelt to haul Jabber up. It’d be easier to get a stretcher, but he had a feeling the longer he kept Jabber conscious, the better the chance he had at finding a way to cure himself—whether it be by some freakish poison-pain-dulling method, or pure genius. He couldn’t take any chances. Jabber was his assignment, and he had successfully subdued him all on his own.
His neck itched, and instinctively, he reached up to scratch it.
Zanka froze.
“Heheh.” Jabber wagged a clawed finger at him, still withering in pain. “Finally caught up to you, huh?”
“What—” Zanka’s limbs spasmed before freezing entirely, the center of his balance failing as he fell flat on his face, nose crushed under his weight. A stinging pain echoed from the back of his neck—where Jabber’s claw must have grazed him—and Zanka grit his teeth.
Shit.
“Don’t worry, this is a new one,” Jabber cackled while coughing out blood. “Did some mix-and-matchy with the leftover poisons I had and combined them into a jizzy!”
Even though his limbs screamed in agony, Zanka gripped the concrete, nails digging in hard enough to create scratches as he aimed to—aimed to what? Hit Jabber? Restrain him? It was a checkmate, and he knew it. One graze from Jabber’s claws and it's over.
He didn’t hold back or go all out. “Gauge his vital instrument,” was his task, but even with something so simple, he had to go through such lengths.
Zanka lost to an injured genius.
He lost.
But that’s how geniuses thought.
He didn’t have the privilege to lose; average Joes like him couldn’t just take a loss and leave it be. No, Zanka had his sights set further than that.
Jabber’s shit-eating grin spread further into his shit-eating face on the concrete as Zanka, limb by limb, through agonizing pain, forced himself up into a kneel. His arm shook as he grabbed at Jabber’s middle, hiding a wince through gritted teeth as he slowly carried Jabber and his poisoned body that screamed to stay frozen up into a stand.
What was considered a loss?
Zanka didn’t fucking know. But what he knew was that he had no right to say shit. He wasn’t strong enough for no mistakes—that was all.
“Why’re you so fuckin’ heavy?” Zanka grumbled as he limped back to the HQ. No response. A short glance showed him Jabber passed out, cheek resting on his shoulder as drool and blood dribbled onto his clothes. He rolled his eyes. “Gotta do everything for ya geniuses.”
His paycheck was definitely taking a hit.