The first thing Zanka noticed upon waking up was that the pain in his head was near completely gone, and his thoughts were much easier to hold on to. The second thing he noticed was a finger on his face, finishing what seemed to be a slow circle around his eye before tracing a small line over the bridge of his nose. When the finger moved down to draw a line on the area above his lip, he struck, shooting forward and giving it a harsh bite as he opened his eyes. He faintly tasted blood.
Jabber yelped in surprise, pulling his hand back purely on instinct for just a moment, before laughing and keeping them on Zanka's side, elbows threaded through the bars.
"Heyy, mornin Zanka, took you long enough to wake up! Would've thought you'd be an 'up with the sun' kinda guy, it normal for you to sleep in this much?"
Zanka must have fallen asleep way too close to the dividing line between their cells, a mistake he wouldn't make again. All things considered though, Jabber probably could've done worse than just touching his face, even if it wasfucking creepy. He raised a hand to the area of his eye where he'd felt Jabbers fingers and was surprised to find it slightly tacky. He moved across to the other eye, and when felt another circle he immediately realized what had happened. He felt a vein bulge in this forehead.
"Oh for- what are ya, twelve?!"
The sight of Zanka, with drawn on glasses and half a moustache sending him a death glare was apparently too much for Jabber, sending him into absolute hysterics as he doubled over, tears in his eyes as he laughed.
Zanka wet a corner of his sleeve and started wiping away the drawing, unsurprised when it turned the fabric slightly red. Jabber was just getting done with his laughing fit, wiping a final tear from his eye, and Zanka noticed an area near his left wrist where the skin had been bit into enough to draw blood. Must be where Jabber had gotten his fingerpainting supplies.
"Hoo, okay. Man!" Jabber breathed, composing himself. "You shoulda seen your face. It's too bad you're undoing all my hard work so fast, the glasses kinda suited you. Don't ever grow a moustache though." He snickered.
"I think I'd hate to see either on you." Zanka bit back.
"Aww, you saying you like the way I look right now better?"
"I'm sayin ya don't need to make youself look any worse, you're good on that front. Trust me." Zanka parried sardonically, and it made Jabber laugh again.
Slowly, it was getting easier to talk to him. In a way it felt a lot like their battles, Jabber starting with an inherent upper hand that Zanka had to adapt to quickly, learning his traps and strategies. How to avoid them, and how to hit back. Almost like a dance.
...
After a while, the guards came from the right side again, once more carrying a single tray of food. It was good to know that Jabbers 24 hours weren't up, since it meant they were getting at least 2 meals per day, probably at regular or mostly-regular intervals. The usual routine followed, zanka moved to the wall, the tray got placed, the door got relocked.
It seemed todays meal was back to two bowls, one of which contained various steamed vegetables while the other held some sort of porridge. Still no utensils. He dipped a finger in the porridge and tried it. Not only was it aggressively room temperature, but it was also entirely bland and flavorless. yum. Switching to the vegetables, he picked up a piece of what was probably some sort of squash. It was also completely unseasoned, but better than the porridge by default since at least it had *some* flavor.
He wondered how he was gonna share the porridge with Jabber and the memory of how he'd behaved with the soup came to mind and immediately killed any desire to pursue that further. Actually, why was he even sharing his food to behind with? If the roles were reversed there was no way Jabber would do it for him. But now that he'd started, Jabber would probably make a big deal of it if he stopped. Plus, he could always use it as leverage or revenge if he needed to. He might not be able to hit him without giving him what he wanted, but he doubted it would be the last time Jabber got his food privilages revoked, and he could always take the opportunity to hold it over Jabber's head when he inevitably did. It was both strategic and the path of least resistance, at least for now.
He gave him a few of the more bitter vegetables and let him finish off the water after Zanka drank what he needed.
Then, Zanka sat waiting for the guards. They'd come in around this time yesterday to take Jabber, and it stood to reason they'd do the same today. But for as long as he waited, nothing happened. Maybe they were giving them a rest day after running all their "calibrations".
It seemed too good to be true, and even if it was, it definitely didn't move them from the very top of Zanka's shitlist, a place normally reserved for Jabber, and occasionally Rudo (a certain memory of being chased through an alley with a plunger came to mind).
He looked over at Jabber, who was laying on his back with his legs up on the bars that separated them, humming a tune Zanka didn't recognize as he cracked his knuckles. And his wrists. And his neck. Each pop louder than the last. Zanka just watched.
For as much as he hated him, Jabber wasn't actuallyunattractive, and if he'd been anyone else there was a chance Zanka might have even found him good looking. As it was though, his insane personality and sadomasochist tendencies cancelled that out pretty well. Still, in moments when he actually managed to shut up and didn't look like he actively wanted to eat Zanka alive, he could appreciate the sharpness of his jawline, the curve of his throat and adams apple, his long locs, his deft and skilled fingers, his absurdly long eyelashes and dark, almost red, eyes. The way-
"You gonna tell me what you're thinkin so hard about about, or just keep staring? I'll get self conscious."
He'd never been so glad to have Jabber interrupt his train of thought. That was getting dangerous.
"Just thinkin about how bad I'm gonna pummel ya the next time we fight."
Jabber lit up at that, tilting his head to look over at him from his place on the floor. "Zanka my dear friend, why wait? We don't have to let some bars stop us."
Yeah he'd definitely made a mistake saying that. "Not gonna happen. We got enough to deal with as is."
"I think you just love getting me all riled up for nothing." Whined Jabber. "You really are a sadist, y'know that?"
Zanka just rolled his eyes. "Oh please. As if ya wouldn't absolutely love it if I was."
"Trust me, I do. I'm just curious how long you're gonna keep denying your true nature. Pretending we're not perfect for each other."
Not this again.
"I think all the poison's gotten to yer brain, you're delusional."
"Eh, pot in kettle." He said, waving a hand in the air. "Or whatever the saying is."
"Not even close."
...
His suspicion about them not being taken into the lab that day had somehow been correct, a fact that was later confirmed when the guards came around the corner with dinner. And with two trays again, good.
They'd spent the day playing would you rather (with some truly heinous questions from Jabber), and then tic tac toe with pebbles and a grid they scratched into the floor between their cells. Jabber had made a comment about how hopefully the next two inmates could appreciate it, and it had made Zanka snort despite himself. The time had passed surprisingly fast, or maybe the feeding schedule just wasn't as regular as he'd hoped.
Jabber almost looked like he wanted to try his luck again when the guards told him to move, and Zanka shot him a look that he hoped registered as "If you do that shit again you're on your own this time", and clearly something translated across because he rolled his eyes and moved to the back wall as he huffed, complaining the whole time.
They left around the right corner again and Zanka listened as they did, trying to see if he could get an idea about the composition of the hallway by sound alone. He strained to hear fading footsteps and a push door opening, sound muffled completely once it closed. It wasn't much, but it meant they probably didn't have the same level of security on the close end of the corridor as they did on the far one. Meaning it probably wasn't also a lab. Not to mention every time they brought food they came from the right side, so that was probably where the kitchens were. If he could get out somehow and get over to the kitchen area, maybe he could get something to defend himself with.
There were still a couple glaring issues though, namely his collar and the fact that he had no idea how to actually get out, or even where to go after he secured a weapon. He never saw the guards just pass by when they weren't delivering something or taking one of them, but sometimes they'd come from the right side and sometimes from the left, so there must be another hallway connecting the two. The place was a maze and he needed more info. Or he needed to be really lucky, but so far it seemed lady luck wasn't his biggest fan so he'd prefer not to stake his life on her favor. He was always better at relying on himself anyway.
...
Their break didn't extend further than the one day, something Zanka hadn't allowed himself to hope for but was dissapointing nontheless.
They walked off with a sedated Jabber and Zanka started picking at his nailbeds while he counted the minutes until it was his turn.
When they came back with Jabbers body he already knew what to expect, and let himself be handcuffed and walked out of the cell without issue. It seemed as long as he complied, they didn't use the electricity or tranquilizer, though they didn't want to take that risk for Jabber. While a part of him was a bit bitter that they considered Jabber a bigger threat, he'd be lying if he said he didnt also get it.
Once behind the keycard door and in the hallways of the lab he looked around at the doors for anything useful. They were labeled in a way that meant nothing to him, acronyms and numbers he was sure he could figure out if he just had more time, but he didn't.
To his surprise, they didn't take him to the same room. Instead, they took a right instead of the last left and went to the door at the end of the hall.
Upon the door opening, he noticed it was similar to the first room, except bigger, and with the notable addition of a large floor-to-ceiling wall made of a thick acylic dividing the room neatly into the more traditional lab area and the smaller torture room. Cute.
The chair was the same, though pointed at the left wall instead of the lab this time, and behind it was a tall machine with lots of wires and tubes that seemed to connect through a hole in the acrylic wall over to the lab area.
They took him into the contained area and he still struggled a bit when they brought him to the chair, mostly for the sake of his own pride. As he tried to wriggle out of their grip part of him wondered why they didn't just electrocute him, and then he suddenly remembered that humans were very conductive. His lightbulb moment made him pause long enough for them to secure him in, but he didn't mind with the info he'd just gotten. They couldn't zap him while he was touching someone else. Meaning he could maybe get a hostage without even having a weapon.
He expected the guards to leave, but instead they just set up against the back wall of the lab area and said something into their chokers. He didn't hear anything. Seemed like the room was soundproofed, then.
The door opened and in came the same two scientists, the old man still with that relaxed, friendly look on his face as he waved to Zanka and said something he assumed was a greeting.
Zanka raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow and the man seemed somewhat embarassed, moving over to an area on the benchtop to press a button that made sound crackle out of an intercom somewhere above Zanka.
"Sorry about that, force of habit. I take it you can hear us alright?"
He expression didn't change as he raised a middle finger in response, glad his left hand had been secured palm up for some reason.
Blow dart guy made a movement that was either stifling a laugh or clearing his throat, the lack of sound making it hard to tell the difference. He could not get a read on that guy.
"I'll take that as a yes." The man said agreeably and moved his hand off the intercom as he continued to say something to the others that Zanka couldn't hear. In response, the shorter guard nodded and left the room while blow dart guy walked over to the area Zanka was in and opened the door, which was unfortunately located behind where his chair faced instead of in front of it, and got to work.
He started to connect things from the machine to his collar and arms. It was killing him that he couldn't turn his head to look. Even looking left at the lab area was a strain on his eyes he couldnt keep up for too long.
Once finished with the wires, the man came around on his left and stood just in his peripheral vision. They sized each other up for a moment before the man, still with a hint of that strange accent, simply said "Spit on me and I won't flush the toxin from your system." and walked forward to pull on his hand, testing the extent of its mobility while shackled, which wasn't much. Zanka was really tempted to do it anyway, but he was playing the long game, and decided it probably was better to behave himself for now. Especially in front of the guards.
The guy seemed satasfied and left, a vaguely smug energy about him from getting Zanka to behave. He just needed to stay composed.
The outside door opened again and all thoughts of composure left Zankas mind immediately as he saw the shorter guard holding Lovely Assistaff.
He thrashed, all logical thought forgotten, moving like a man possessed as he tried to break out of his bindings with sheer strength and force of will. He needed to get to her, he needed to get that guards filthy hands off her.
The old man looked delighted as he started writing in his notebook, mumbling something as he went.
Zanka panted, each futile movement pressing against what he already knew would become bruises, and tried to calm himself down. So much for playing his cards close to his chest.
The intercom crackled again.
"So, G012-b, On a scale of one to ten, how deep would you say your bond is with your vital instrument?"
Zanka just glared. He was done playing nice, and unless the man was gonna tell him step by step instructions on how to break out of the facility, he was sure he had no information worth "trading".
"Based on your reaction I'd guess it's rather high, but it really would help us to get a number, even if its subjective."
When Zanka escaped he was making a pit stop to kill this guy. Hopefully with assistaff.
"Well, no matter. Let's begin then, I'll explain as we go."
A familiar, burning pain started spreading from the back of his neck through his veins.
"Today we'll be testing your endurance with your instrument, seeing at what pain threshold your body releases it."
Wait, did that mean they were going to let him-
The door behind him opened, and from behind, someone –one of the guards, presumably– pushed the head of Lovely Assistaff up to his open left hand, still holding on to the bottom.
The instant his hand closed around her he could feel her soul thrumming, and he felt his own soul resonate with it as he took the chance to transform her from wood into her signature sleek blue metal. There had to be some way he could use this to his advantage. He wished he could swing her, or move her at all more than a few inches, but he was well restrained, and even her spikes wouldnt help if he wasn't facing the enemy.
"Excellent! Just beautiful. Now, please keep it transformed for as long as you can stand it."
Then, the guard started to pull her away, out of his grip.
"I understand you might be tempted to tap out of this one early, but getting accurate results is very important to us, so as an insurance method, we're going to hang on to it. I'm sure you're aware your staff is much more...vulnerable in its untransformed state."
He tried to hold on, tried to keep his grip solid with everything he had in him, but he had no leverage, and the guard was too strong. And far too soon, Lovely Assistaff was ripped from his hand.
"But that's the great thing about vital instruments! They can be made from trash and things falling apart at the seams but when they're activated they become near invulnerable!"
They had Assistaff in the lab now, metal and glowing. His eyes widened when he saw a bunson burner, lit and sitting on the bench.
"It's simple, as long as you keep your instrument in its transformed state this fire will do nothing more than heat up the metal. I promise it won't get anywhere near melting, and should have no lasting effect on it. But if you try to skew our results or end this trial early by deactivating it, well. I imagine the wood won't fare quite the same."
He opened his mouth to scream at them, soundproof wall be damned, before an increase in pain reminded him he still had poison in his system, and it was getting worse.
"When I get outta here," He grit out, jaw clenched, "yer all dead. Every one of you. And I," He had to focus, he had to keep his eyes on them. "I am going to make it hurt."
The older scientist just smiled, and continuted to write his notes.
They didn't want him to mess up their "results" by quitting early? Fine. He'd mess up their results by being an outlier then. He'd blow their god damn test out of the water, and he'd keep Lovely Assistaff activated so long that the data made no sense and became functionally useless. It was just a little pain, that was nothing to someone like him. He'd show them.
...
...He'd done it. He was hazy, and his entire body was trembling, and he had no idea how long it had been but the flame was gone and Lovely Assistaff remained. Still metal, still transformed. He couldn't release. He heard the intercom again and it sounded like a foreign language. He kept his eyes looking to the left, looking at Assistaff in all her glory.
There was an exchange of words behind the glass and suddenly he was exhausted, familiar numbness locking his tongue and weighing down his eyelids. He didn't have the strength to fight it and just let himself go, trying to get one last glimpse of Lovely Assistaff before he did, trying to mentally send her his love and gratitude for withstanding it with him.. They'd teach them...to not underestimate....the power....of an average joe...
...
For once, Zanka woke up to a tranquil silence, and was immediately unnerved because of it. Looking over –ignoring the headache that pulsed when he moved his eyes to the side– he saw that it was because Jabber was still asleep. He worried about the implications of that for a moment before realizing he was in a completely different area and position from when the guards had dropped him, so at some point he'd woken up and simply decided to knock out again. Or something had happened with the guards when they'd brought Zanka back. He wouldnt put it past him. Or them.
Zanka stretched out all his limbs, and took inventory of his body. The areas where the cuffs locked were still sore from his thrashing, and when he moved his eyes to the side his head briefly pulsed with pain, but other than that and a dry throat he seemed alright.
Jabber was sleeping on his back, head tilted to the side and one leg bent. His left hand had ridden up his undershirt, palm splayed out across his now partially visible stomach.
For some reason, Zanka felt himself filled with curiosity and moved silently towards the bars to get a better look. The skin on his stomach looked surprisingly soft, and the area only had a few small scars, most of which he'd be willing to bet were self-inlficted. It was no easy feat to land a hit on Jabber. The wrap around his waist seemed to sit lower than usual, and Zanka could see one of his hip bones and the deep V of his pelvis. He felt the tips of his ears burn as he sharply moved his traitorous eyes up towards Jabbers face before they could drift any lower.
Looking at Jabber's sleeping face wasn't much better. His locs fanned around him like sunbeams. His lips were parted and his mouth was slightly open, and with his eyes closed and face relaxed he looked peaceful, a descriptor that was so completely at odds with everything Jabber represented that it would have been funny if it weren't so strangely captivating.
Zanka had to get a grip. What was he doing?? He should be taking advantage of any time he had without Jabber assaulting his senses to be planning his escape, not sitting there ogling his enemy like a creep. He couldn't even blame it on the concussion anymore. It was an issue of pure willpower, which stung even more because his will was all he had, but his brain (and body) apparently seemed intent on betraying him at every available opportunity when Jabber was involved.
He took a few deep breaths to center himself, and was grateful for the small mercy that Jabber hadn't woken up, or god forbid been faking sleep to catch Zanka's reaction. He just needed to get himself under control. He was better than this. It was just because of the situation they were in, that was all. He could beat whatever stupid stockholm-syndrome-esque nonsense was affecting his psyche (he resolutely ignored the part of his brain that reminded him stockholm syndrome was only for captors, and also that this particular issue had extended since before they'd been taken) and go back to feeling disgusted and angry at the sight of Jabber and nothing else. He just needed to lock in. He could do that. He was in control of his own mind, and he'd prove it. This couldn't be any harder than what he'd just done in the lab.
...
When Jabber finally woke up he did so with a large yawn and stretch that displayed even more of his lower pelvis area, the removal of his hand revealing the start of a dark happy trail- DAMNIT. He seriously needed to slam his head into the wall. Over and over again.
Jabber sat up slowly and wiped a thin line of drool from the corner of his mouth, eyes still mostly closed and looking like he could fall back asleep at any moment. He sleepily scanned his surroundings, and like a compass finding north, he turned towards Zanka.
"Oh hey, when'd you get here?" His voice was still raspy from sleep and Zanka had absolutely no feelings about it whatsoever.
"I've been here, you've just been sleeping the whole damn time."
"Oh shit, my bad. How long was I out?"
"Hell if I know. You were out when I woke up, and its probably almost dinner by now."
Jabber hummed, rubbing his eyes before smiling that signature cheshire grin. "You sound kinda butthurt about it, did'ja miss talkin to me?"
"Just annoyed you woke up, I thought maybe they'd done me a favor and killed ya for good."
Jabber hummed again, pleased, and stretched his arms above his head, causing a litany of pops from his shoulders and back –seriously, that could *not* be healthy– before finally opening his eyes more than a sliver and looking at Zanka with his regular, hungry look. The return to form was honestly comforting.
"Nah, they couldn't kill me if they tried. They're so weak they won't even unlock the door without those remotes. And besides, you know I'm saving that honor for you."
...
Apparently the previous days schedule was now the blueprint for all the following ones, and they began to settle into something of a routine. Wake up, eat, get dragged off for experiments, wake up again, talk argue, eat again, sleep. Rinse and repeat. The days blended together and through it all, shockingly, Jabber's presence helped him stay sane. He was infuriating, and a complete freak, and other than the threat to Mankira he didn't seem concerned at all with the torture-disguised-as-science that was being enacted on them. But even so, it was nice to have someone to talk to, even if some of the stuff that came out of Jabbers mouth made him want to throttle him, and of all the emotions that threatened to suffocate Zanka when he sat and thought too hard for too long, anger was easiest to deal with. It took an embarassing number of times where Jabber ragebaited him out of a negative thought spiral before he started to wonder if he was doing it on purpose.
...
Who woke up first on any given day was something of a tossup at first, but Zanka quickly settled back into what he assumed was his normal circadian rythmn of waking up around dawn, meaning on most days he'd get to wake up in peace instead of being hounded by Jabber. On one such day he remembered he still had the shoe Jabber had thrown at him to wake him up, and decided to return the favor. Part of him lamented giving Jabber his ammo back, but the sound he'd made when Zanka had absolutely beamed his half-sleeping form with it made it well worth it. Unfortunately, it had started a slow sort of game between the two of them where they'd try to throw said shoe through the bars as hard as they could to hit the other person when they weren't paying attention. It was hard to line it up with the bars with enough speed and easy enough to dodge when you could see it coming, so biding their time and waiting to catch the other off guard was key. It shouldn't have been fun, and it probably only was because he was so starved for anything interesting to do, but he found himself enjoying it regardless –not that he'd ever let Jabber know that– and was glad to get up early knowing it gave him the upper hand.
However, it also meant his body wanted to fall asleep earlier, something Jabber seemed loathe to let him do. Whenever he started to nod off during one of their conversations or games Jabber made it a point to try and keep him awake by any means necessary, including getting him with the shoe a couple times. They'd decided no throwing it while someone was fully sleeping, since that negated the point of having to be stealthy, but half-asleep was fair game. Once, Zanka had caught it out of the air and immediately sent it back towards Jabbers face. He'd caused a nice goose egg on jabbers upper forehead that paired terribly with his disgustingly lovestruck expression.
...
The experiements on their vital instruments continued, though what they were testing seemed to change day by day. Sometimes it was transformation limit, other times it seemed they were testing his activation speed. For some reason they seemed really interested in the idea of remote activation, or even just activation without direct skin contact, but as hard as they tried, nothing ever came from those tests, and they usually ended up pivoting to something else for the day. One time, they'd tried to bring in an exact replica of Lovely Assistaff, probably to see if he could activate it just by believing it was his instrument. The test ended up being a bust for them anyway because the second he laid eyes on it he knew it wasn't his treasure. It was honestly insulting more than anything, and the choice words he'd had for them because of it definitely resulted in a rougher than usual poison run to "retest his endurance benchmark."
...
He woke up gasping sometimes, not sure whether he was in the cell or the lab. Nightmares were much harder to dismiss when they were indistinguishable from real life, and sometimes he worried he'd lose track of what had really happened to him and what his unconscious mind had made up. He was glad Jabber was such a heavy sleeper, as sometimes he just needed to curl in a ball and get his hands to stop shaking, and the idea of Jabber catching him in such a state was mortifying.
It was worse when he had nightmares about the cleaners. It started with his team being captured, being subject to the same torment he was because of Zanka's negligence. He heard their screams in the chair and agreed with every word they said when they blamed him for it. But worse still were the dreams where they'd find him, where they'd break in with guns blazing only to find Zanka in the cell, pathetic and mentally beaten down and entirely uninjured, having not gone for even a single escape attempt. The ones where they'd laugh at him and leave him there, not wanting to bring dead weight back on their team, no matter how much he begged and pleaded as he tried to force himself through the bars, reaching desperately for their backs as they left him behind.
Those were by far the worst.
Still though, the human brain really could get used to anything, and after a maybe a week and a half, the sleep deprivation, arguments, and daily torture were almost mundane. He didn't lose sight of his goal, though.
After the first week, he'd had to come to terms with the fact that no one was coming to save them. Not from the Cleaners or Raiders. So he'd need to do it himself. He'd been slowly gathering information, making a plan. There were still quite a few unknowns, but he had the base of something that could work. He just needed the right opportunity to strike, and he knew how to create it.
By the end of the week, he'd be out of there or die trying.