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“Careful now,” he whimpered as the dust began to settle, “I can only get so erect.”
All Cleaners present simultaneously groaned, tending to Rudo’s condition as best as they could while Jabber continued to howl obscenities- frantic taunts and threats that held no water, aside from the reactions he was trying to get. Blood splattered out of his mouth and soaked the edges of his dreads, dripping slowly to the ground.
“Damn, man. That’s what you’ve been dealing with?” Enjin hoisted Rudo onto his back while Tamsy took the front line. “My condolences. He’s got more than a screw loose.”
Rudo coughed, struggling to move as toxins continued to ravage his system. “Zan…Zanka’s still down there.”
On the further side of the rubble, Jabber’s ears perked up and that smile became disturbingly genuine. “So your buddy with the attitude has a name, huh? That’s good to know. Man, I can’t stop thinkin’ about that stick of his…” He licked his lips and shuddered violently, clutching his set of fractured ribs. “And that look he gave me…goddamn, I’m gonna bust in my pants.”
“Hey!” Enjin shouted in a hurry, “We can still hear ya, you know! Stop being a freak.” He recoiled in disgust as Jabber licked his claws and began throwing himself against the rubble, banging his head on nearby chunks of stone. Patches of blood remained in his wake. “Don’t worry, Rudo. You and Zanka are both gonna be fine…it’s that thing I’m worried about.”
“Be careful. Don’t let him touch you, not even a scratch.” Sensation prickled at the very tips of Rudo’s fingers and he cursed the inability to control his own body. “Damn. This is all my fault.”
“You’re the only one playing the blame game. Let’s get home before making those kinda judgements, alright?” Enjin frowned and turned to address Tamsy. “So…should we take him hostage, or what?”
And that was how Zanka came to suddenly regain consciousness in a recovery room of Cleaners HQ. With Assistaff laid at his side, he stared at the battered state of his hands before folding them into loose, weak fists. The feeling made him sick- he kept thinking of those claws tearing through his flesh, pinning him to the ground, egging him on. He shot upright as Enjin knocked on the doorframe and entered.
“Hey, champ. How’s it hangin?”
“Um…I’ve been better,” Zanka murmured, averting his gaze, “but the mission wasn’t successful. Plus, my back is killing me.” Enjin pulled a chair to his bedside and sat. Usually he blew off steam by smoking, but given the circumstances, the best he could do was crack his knuckles and shift uncomfortably.
“So. Ah shit, I’m really sorry about this, Zanka. Can I pick your brain for a sec?” Zanka flushed and answered with a short nod of affirmation. “Here’s the situation: we got that Raider guy locked up in the basement and it doesn’t seem like anyone’s comin’ for him.”
Oh thank god.
“Now there’s good news and bad news. Good news, we managed to disarm his instrument. The bad news is, well–”
A horrible screech reverberated through the entire building, sending a shiver up Zanka’s spine straight to his brain and gut. Maybe a bit lower than his gut. Fuck. He tried a nervous laugh and scratched the back of his head.
Enjin continued, “Yeah. He’s actually demanding to see you specifically.” Before Zanka could remark, he held up a hand. “I don’t know what happened while you were underground, but we really need this guy to talk. I wouldn’t be asking this of you if it wasn’t important.” Enjin's face had been cut in half by shadows and the mere sight struck Zanka with a bolt of primal anxiety.
“Wait. Don't…don't say it, please.”
“Zanka.” Enjin sighed and folded his arms. “Look, man. I don't wanna do this any more than you, but honestly, you're probably our best bet at getting something useful out of him.” Zanka's lower lip trembled- was this supposed to be praise or a punishment? Enjin knew he couldn't say no to a chance at proving himself, and his point was hammered home by the supportive hand on his shoulder. “It can be quick, and I'll be right outside if anything happens. We're all counting on this to help Rudo and stop the Raiders.”
Damn it all to hell.
Each of Jabber's wrists were bound with chains that had been tightly anchored to nearby walls. His only range of movement came from his neck and legs, which remained generally motionless aside from the occasional rocking back and forth. At first his expression was hidden behind his dreads, but then he glanced up at Zanka's entrance and a terrifying smile spread across his face.
“About damn time, Bad-itude. I've been callin’ for you all day, and coming off that dose earlier has been kinda rough. My head is splitting.” He crossed his legs and sat as far as he could manage. “Can't argue with results, though.”
“What do the Raiders want with Rudo?” Zanka demanded, planting Assistaff firmly between Jabber and himself. He couldn't take any chances- this guy was truly crazy. No, worse than crazy, he was a total freak. Zanka's chest tightened.
Jabber's grin widened. Could he smell fear? “All you Cleaners worry about is business. I'm here for personal interest, not that spherite bullshit.”
“Answer me.”
“I got a genuine question for you, man,” Jabber continued, eyes low and taunting, “you pack a pretty satisfying punch, but what's with the stick? A guy like you could do a whole lot better.”
Fuck that. Zanka's nails dug into the bands of grip tape and he took a threatening step forward. “It's more than a stick, asshole, and it's definitely better than your fuck-ass rings.”
Jabber laughed. “Wow, did I strike a nerve? You're sensitive, but I like that in a guy.”
“I am not.”
“See, I don't feel the need to defend Mankira,” Jabber explained, stroking one finger along another where bands of metal usually wrapped, “‘cause anyone who's met it knows the truth, plain and simple, including you. You're defensive, though. That's that insecurity talking.”
Zanka bristled.
“Is it ‘cause you aren't pulling your weight? Or are you scared of what other people might think of you?” Jabber had a way of lowering his voice beneath the skin, somehow melodic, pervasive. “I bet they don't know what kinda guy you are under all that business. When did you realize, huh? Goddamn, I wanna get beat by you again.”
Zanka had heard much worse. Years with the Hellguard guaranteed that he'd been called every unsavory term under the sun, and in those days, it filled him with pride. People did tend to lash out when they felt hopeless or cornered- maybe that was why the insults never stuck and Zanka could go about his life relatively unbothered.
But Jabber wasn't insulting him. His words lacked cruelty; instead they felt more like an offering, a beckoning hand. It made Zanka sick.
“There's obviously something about your motives that you're trying to hide. Changing the subject doesn't make you clever, just makes you look weak.”
Jabber shrugged, disinterested in the point entirely. “Whatever, I said what I said. Can we speed this whole process up? Or do I need to insult you some more for another beatdown like earlier?”
His eyes twitched with annoyance. “If you don't wanna cooperate,” Zanka seethed, flipping Assistaff off the ground, “there's no reason to have a working jaw, is there?”
A moment hung. Then Jabber snorted and doubled over with eager laughter. “Oh yeah, man? Then come on over here and show me what you're made of already, I'm raring to go!” Zanka's wrist jerked but he quickly regained composure and didn't move another inch. He remembered Jabber as they'd first captured him; bloody, broken, deranged, rambling about his erection and feeling lucky. How could Zanka forget? Jabber wanted this more than he did.
Right. Right?
“What's the holdup? Ooh man, I’m gettin’ excited.”
“Next time we take a hostage, I hope they're more competent than you. Freak.” Zanka spun on his heel and proceeded back the way he'd come, fighting the urge to pause as Jabber continued to laugh and giggle even after the door shut and sentenced him to another round of solitude.
Enjin was waiting on the other side, arms folded heavy over his chest. Zanka avoided eye contact and clicked the lock into place.
“So? What'd he say?”
Zanka's lips pursed in frustration. “Nothing useful. He's just an idiot.” Enjin groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, deep in thought. “Sorry. I did what I could.”
“Nah, don't apologize. It was a long shot anyways.” He patted Zanka's shoulder and kicked off the wall, clearly intending to report somewhere. “You were real brave facing that guy after what he did to you and the others. Keep your head up.”
The endeavor had been a disaster. Zanka went about his daily activities in a daze, constantly fidgeting, snapping at anyone who questioned the behavior. Riyo was especially persistent; she infiltrated his personal space and made incessant comments, probably sent by Enjin to make sure his ego wasn’t in shambles. Well it was- and not because of some failed interrogation.
“The boss wants us to take turns guarding the Raider hostage,” Riyo spoke in the middle of their workout, watching Zanka take repetitive, measured strikes with his instrument. “Like…all of us. Except for you. I think he feels bad.”
Zanka frowned but tried to remain focused, swinging again. “It wasn’t that big of a big deal.”
“I dunno.” She crossed her legs and sipped on a bottle of water, eyes wandering to the antics of nearby supporters. “The job didn't exactly go as planned and now we've got a lot more on our plate, especially with that Jabber guy.”
Jabber. Jabber this, Jabber that. Zanka bit the inside of his lip and swung so hard that sweat flew from his chin.
“You sure you should be moving around so much? A few hours ago you could barely stand.”
“I'm fine.”
“Right.” Riyo stretched and fell onto her back, watching a fan spin on the ceiling overhead. “I know it's not my business. I don't blame you for needing space to recover, as long as you remember that you aren’t on your own.”
Zanka couldn’t possibly forget- how could he, when nobody would leave him alone?
The first taste of peace only arrived once he locked himself in his dorm and collapsed face-first onto his bed, groaning beneath an immeasurable burden that crushed his lungs and spirit. Lights low, halls quiet…the perfect environment for reflection. Three minutes in, he desperately wished he hadn’t begun in the first place.
Zanka did not want to hurt people. Training to be in the Hellguard was a choice, sure, but it was also an obligation to his family and peers. He strove to be the best version of himself, and moving past that part of his life meant he’d grown- a change that only accompanied age and experience. Fighting trash beasts, helping random strangers, keeping Ground society afloat…all noble deeds. By no uncertain terms, Zanka could be a hero.
He groaned and clutched at the roots of his hair. What kind of hero wanted to brutalize a random psychotic man? Something about Jabber had to be different; either his disposition or sheer glee during combat made him uncanny- maybe even both. But Zanka didn’t find him disgusting.
The way he’d pulled at his lips and let the blood run down his chin…the sincerity of complimenting Zanka’s ruthlessness…
No. Zanka slammed his head into the pillows. Maybe if he knocked himself out again, everything would just be a bad, uncomfortable dream that he wouldn’t have ot come to terms with.
“-Oop. Hello? This thing on?”
Zanka stilled. No sound, no witnesses. The voice returned.
“Hey Zanka, I know you can hear me- assuming you’re not butt-ass naked.”
Denial was powerful. Acknowledging bad behavior only encouraged it, after all. And why would he bother reacting? It could be a figment of his imagination- sleep deprivation at it’s nastiest. Zanka chuckled to himself and rolled over, mouth twitching.
“Hey! I’m talking to you, asshole!”
Zanka shot up and wrapped his entire hand around his choker. “What the fuck! How the hell are you talking to me? No- how are you even using your collar? Your hands are tied!” Jabber’s laugh fluttered like the sound of bird wings.
“You got a small mind. I like to think big.”
“I’m going to kill you.” Was he escaping? Preparing for an invasion? “I swear, if you so much as breathe the wrong way, your skull is gonna become a statement piece in my bedroom.”
“...You promise?”
“Die.” His fingers trembled as adrenaline made it’s way through his system. Thinking rationally, he knew that Jabber couldn’t do anything unnoticed; guards were posted outside his cell, not to mention Semiu was completely locked into his actions. If he’d really made a move, the entire building would have already erupted. So there was nothing to worry about.
Nothing except the uncomfortable anticipation swirling in Zanka’s legs.
“You know, when I left for my mission today, I figured I’d at-best get closer to finding a worthy opponent- someone who really gets after it, just lookin’ to cause pain and misery. I had no idea the Cleaners were hiding my soulmate in their scroungy-ass ranks.”
Soulmate. Really? Zanka waited, refusing to dignify such a stupid, childish taunt. He contemplated removing his choker altogether and falling into a less-than-comfortable round of sleep. But he didn’t…for some reason. Fuck.
“Cat got your tongue? It’s okay, I know I have a way with words. By the way, I stole some of your blood while we were fighting. Sorry ‘bout that.”
No, he surely wasn’t. If Zanka remembered correctly, Jabber had pricked the back of his neck with such pure excitement that it made puppies seem tame. No matter how hard he tried to forget, Zanka kept coming back to those few moments where the toxin was actively seeping into his bloodstream, tearing apart his inhibitions, degrading rationale; as if it hadn’t happened that afternoon. The effects must still be lingering. Yeah, that was it.
“Ah, Zanka…that last wallop was really something. I still feel it in my spine- you’re really merciless, huh? Though I wasn’t even tryin’ to kill you. That fight didn’t need to be so rough.”
Zanka grimaced. “Are you dumb? You tried kidnapping my teammate- the one guy I’m actually responsible for. Was I supposed to help you knock him out, or what? Dumbass.”
“Haha! You’re funny, too. Just my type. Listen, don’t take it so personally…’cause I’ll probably do it again sometime.”
“You’re not doing anything. Cleaner custody isn’t playtime; we mean business, especially when it comes to protecting our members.” Jabber whistled and the sound brushed far too close to Zanka’s reddened ears. “This is stupid. Talking to you is infuriating.”
“Right. And here we are.”
A door slammed on the next floor down, stirring a fresh wave of chemicals in Zanka’s haywire brain. He held Assistaff with a death grip while his eyes tried to soften their intensity, forcing a sense of control and confidence. In the end, his eyes nearly popped from his sockets.
“Zanka.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Can you tell me to die again?”
Yeah, right. Just because he’d asked nicely? Zanka wasn’t taking requests from a prisoner, much less one of this caliber- “No problem. Better yet, just kill yourself already. Save us all the trouble.” On the other side, Jabber was moving, swallowing far too hard, breathing heavy.
“Ah, good. You must practice sayin’ that in a mirror every mornin’, huh? Freaky.”
“Bold accusation coming from you.” Zanka rolled onto his side and watched the clock. Waited. “What…what are you doing, exactly?”
“Oh. Can you hear that?”
Horror built in the back of Zanka’s throat, numbing. “Hear what?”
“Sorry, sorry. I’m just thinkin’ about earlier today…thought you should know you really changed my life.” He sighed only to snort a brief, longing laugh. “Never knew pain that good was waitin’ for me- you’re gonna make me lose, right? And teach me a lesson?”
No. “Tch. Bet your ass I am.”
“I know that’s right.” He grunted, succeeded by a heavy exhale. “Hypothetically speaking…how would you go about killing me?”
It didn’t matter. Zanka’s first thought ran to strangulation, or possibly drowning, after some consideration, he discovered it didn’t matter. He simply wanted Jabber to suffer for picking a fight with him…and the Cleaners, of course. He imagined it: his hands around Jabber’s throat, fingers buried in each of his pulses, feeling every beat until the very, very end.
Next thing he knew, those same fingers were slipping beneath his waistband, cold and strangely alien.
“Wow. Want me to leave a voicemail, or something?”
“You may just be the most annoying, insufferable douchebag I’ve ever had to meet,” Zanka muttered, biting the inside of his cheek. His hips shifted then settled again. “Shut up and wait ‘til we decide to execute you.”
Jabber didn’t bother hiding his groan of agreement, voice significantly strained whenever he recovered. “Cool. Grant me one last wish: I want you to do it. Doesn’t matter how.”
Funny, Zanka thought bitterly, he would figure the same thing. “Sorry, that’s not written in my job contract.”
“What if I hire you to do it?”
“That probably counts as fraud,” Zanka breathed, sliding beyond his naval to breach a faint threshold of hair. “I think. Well, maybe not if you actually die.”
“Keep sweet talkin’ me, I’m getting there.”
Right. Zanka took a deep, measured breath, and plunged into his underwear. Responding became akin to making a deal with the devil, and maybe that wasn’t so far off when it came to Jabber. No art in subtlety, nothing morally groundbreaking– as long as they didn’t speak it into existence. This moment might disappear like dust in the morning.
Oh, who was he kidding? Zanka knew dust would never, ever go away. That face never changed a damn thing.
“Shame you don’t have your instrument; I’d tell you where to shove it. Though I doubt a guy like you is good at following orders, especially after that embarrassing failure today.” Jabber laughed his encouragement, giddy. Exuberant, even. Deranged. Hot. “I definitely wouldn’t hire you back. I bet there’s a hell of a punishment waitin’ for you at home.”
“Oh Zanka, one round ain’t gonna do it for me. I’ll crawl my ass back here for a second serving.”
“Huh? I don’t run a charity, it’s not for free.”
“That right? What’re your rates, then?”
Zanka clutched his dick like a lifeline, refusing friction. It did not feel good. Imagining Jabber in a pool of his own blood, beaten beyond recognition, begging for one last touch…disgusting. Reprehensible. “At least one full night of uninterrupted sleep. Think you can manage?”
“Ugh. Guess we’ll see what I owe you after our next scrap.”
Privacy was a complicated matter. Usually, Zanka wouldn’t risk doing anything he couldn’t do in front of Riyo or Enjin– and yeah, his age came with more complications, but it wasn’t too different from the Academy. Now it seemed to be more of a constraint than a barrier keeping others out. Every once in a while he’d get the urge and seek out a gym session, maybe even a prolonged shower; work off the frustration and get over himself by morning.
He pulled the blankets over his body and grit his teeth. One pump, two pumps. Hot yet dry. Raspy. In a moment of weakness, he spat on his palm and huddled deeper into himself.
“Pft. You’re nasty, Zanka. Real nasty guy.”
“Am I supposed to take that seriously coming from you?”
“You ain’t ever gonna keep up with me. Think this is bad? I’ve got plenty more to show ya.” In the muffled background, rattling chains. Labored breathing. “While I got you on the line, give me one last death threat. Make it spicy.”
Zanka’s knee bounced uncontrollably, quivering with tension and building nerves. If he began to sweat, he’d have to shower again, and if he ended up in the shower…could he stop himself? After this? Someone blowing the lid off his darkest secret, goading him into a terribly vulnerable position- not to mention he liked it. Really, really liked it.
“You’re not worth the breath, dude. Give up already,” Zanka insisted, flushing a deeper shade of red than seemed healthy. “Shit. Every word you say makes me hate you even more. I wanna break your neck.” And touch him, make him bleed, watch him cry tears of joy.
Jabber didn’t respond for a few breathless moments. The last transmission Zanka received that night was concise, simply put: “Oh, I’m comin’ for you. Gonna be all mine.”
When Zanka awoke somewhere around midnight, he’d forgotten to change out of his newly dirtied clothes. By the time he was on his feet and looking for something fresh to wear, the announcement droned across all Cleaners: “All on-site personnel, be advised that a dumbass little mouse just broke out of it’s trap, little shit.”