Zanka waited for something, anything, to happen. Going to the front bars, he strained to try and hear or see anything that would give him a clue as to what they were doing with Jabber. After a few minutes, it became clear they weren't coming back right away to grab him too, and that wasn't as big of a relief as he'd hoped. There was a non-zero chance they'd just taken Jabber off to execute him. And there was a non-zero chance Zanka was next. Great. He stepped back from the bars, going back to the wall where his tray of half eaten food –his last meal, maybe– resided, and leaned his back against the cool concrete, before sliding down into a sitting position on the floor. Hating, not for the first time, just how powerless he felt.
"Cease all meals and water to subject G012-a for 24 hours, effective immediately."
...No, they hadn't killed Jabber. Probably. It wouldn't make sense. But the question remained of what they were doing to him. And what they were gonna do to Zanka.
...
It had been maybe an hour or two –with no clocks or sunlight all he could do was guess– before he finally heard something other than the tapping of his own foot on the ground and the occasional drip. Scrambling up, he tried to look down the hall. If nothing else, he refused to let them catch him off guard. Slowly, the two guards from before came into view, dragging an unconcious Jabber by the arms. As they got closer, Zanka looked at Jabber, who weirdly enough, didnt seem to have any (new) visible wounds on him, though it was a bit hard to tell since the now mostly dried blood from his broken nose still covered the majority of his lower face. They opened the cell up and tossed Jabber in, his unconscious body landing like a ragdoll. There was something disturbing about seeing him like that, half-expecting at any moment for him to pop back up and say something stupid. But his body just laid there, limp. If not for the slow rise and fall of his chest Zanka could've mistaken him for dead.
"Face the back wall, hands against your head. Now."
Zanka ripped his eyes away from Jabber's still form and back at the guards.
"What'd you do?"
He didn't get a chance to do anything else before electricity coursed through him, sending him spasming on the ground. Apparently the guards were done with warnings. The door opened and one of the guards –the shorter one maybe? Not that it mattered– did the same action of shoving his arms behind his back and cuffing them together. Zanka, at least, was able to get his feet under him as the guard yanked him up, though he was still breathing heavily and in no shape to fight back. Not yet at least. The door opened again as they walked him out of the cell. Great. His turn.
He took the chance to look around, trying to get any new information about where they were or how to get out, but the hallway was the same all the way down, and both directions ended in nondescript T-intersections. They marched down towards the far end, passing rows of empty, identical cells. There were maybe a dozen in total. Including the two that housed him and Jabber. They turned right at the end of the hall, before coming up on a security door.
The shorter guard pulled a keycard on a lanyard from their right pocket and scanned it. Zanka filed away that knowledge for later. The door whooshed open and revealed a much cleaner hallway, with linoleum floors and a general smell of antiseptic. They expertly navigated their way past doors with labels he didnt have time to read, too busy trying to engrave the series of turns they were taking into his mind. Left, right, straight, left, second door. The door they ended at also unlocked by keycard, though it wasn't quite as fancy as the previous one. The guard turned the handle and pushed the door open, and he was dragged inside.
The chemical smell was even stronger in here, and the room looked like a doctors office. Well, if a doctors office and a torture chamber had an ugly baby. It had the usual shelves and cabinets, along with a pristine countertop and metal sink. But where a patient bed would normally sit there was a large, half reclined chair made of metal and covered in a thick, padded material, with large metal cuffs welded where a persons wrists and ankles would go, as well as a large one by the head. His thoughts ranged from "how cliché" to "absolutely NOT" as he dug his heels into the ground when they started pulling him over to it.
He knew, realistically, that struggling would get him nowhere. They outnumbered him, they overpowered him, he was still recovering from a probably-concussion, and on top of all that he was still fucking handcuffed. But his brain just wouldn't allow him to passively let himself get strapped into the torture-chair. Not that it mattered because they were quickly able to wrestle him into the chair anyway, one of the guards holding him down while the other secured the metal restraints on his legs. They uncuffed him then, with a key also on the lanyard –*noted*– before each grabbing a wrist and locking those in as well. With arms and legs secured, they moved to the one across his forehead, securing it in place with a final, damning click. He struggled for just a moment, testing the restaints, but they were solid, and tight, and the metal bit into his joints uncomfortably. The guards nodded and then left the room, scanning the same card to get out. Locked from both sides, then. He sat there, trapped and stuck facing the door, waiting for whoever or whatever was going to come in and make his life hell that day.
He tried looking around more, thinking maybe he could find something to free himself with, or take back into his cell to pick the lock, but there was nothing. Not that he could reach it if there was. Presumably the only things not neatly tucked away in cabinets or drawers were several thick colored binders on one of the shelves, along with a box of what looked like files.
After a few minutes, he heard the mechanical click of the door unlocking, and it opened to reveal an older man in a white lab coat, followed by the asshole who had hit Zanka with the blow dart, also in a coat. They had a small symbol on the breast pocket that he didn't recognize. The old man gave him a friendly smile as he set his notebooks and pen down on the counter.
"Hello there! Zanka, correct?"
Zanka just continued to glare, mostly at blow dart guy, trying to convey with just his eyes how much he wanted to break out of his restraints and beat him senseless. Said guy didn't look his way at all, too busy opening drawers and cabinets as he hummed a tune, pulling things out and lining up vials on a tray as he sorted through files.
"Ah, yes – my assistant told me you'd resisted his darts, that's no easy feat! You should be proud! Subject G012-a, that is—your current neighbor and acquaintance mister Wonger— also showed a resistance, though we expected that, given the nature of his vital instrument."
Him calling Jabber an "acquaintance" of his with a straight face would've made him laugh in any other situation, but there was nothing funny about it right now. The man flipped one of his notebooks open and clicked his pen.
"Tell me, have you always had an increased immunity to toxins? I understand you belong to the Nijiku family, was that part of their training? Or is it simply biological?"
Zanka suppressed a flinch at the mention of his family, though by the way the old man's head tilted just slightly, he didn't do a good enough job of concealing his reaction entirely.
"Or maybe another reason? According to my staff you likely have some sort of prior antagonistic relationship with G012-a. Repeated exposure to his vital instrument wouldeventually cause an increased resistance to most toxins, it's just, well. That would be a bit boring, wouldn't it?" He chuckled, like they were having afternoon tea. Boring. The word got under his skin and his glare only deepened. Despite this, the mans pleasant smile and open body language never faltered.
"Ah, where are my manners, I'm sure you have questions as well, right? Maybe we can do a little trading of information."
Part of Zanka wanted to continue the silent treatment more than anything, but he was at a distinct disadvantage in the conversation regardless, and the only thing staying quiet would help was his pride.
"Fine. But I'm not telling ya shit about the cleaners, so dont even ask."
The man waved him off, smile still on his face. "Completely fine, I have no interest in that."
Hm.
"What do you want then? And who are you with? Hell Guard? Someone else? You took a raider and a cleaner, you trying to start some kind of war?"
"Oh heavens no, nothing that juvenile." He laughed. "No, I promise my pursuits are much more noble. And I'm certainly not with the Hell Guard, our goals are...somewhat antithetical to theirs."
He was really getting tired of this crazy old man.
"What goals."
"Sorry, I believe its my turn. My earlier question still stands, what causes your increased toxin resistance?"
He thought about lying, but if the man thought he had some sort of inherent biological immunity to poison he might give him more than he could handle.
"Lots of practice."
He could tell the man was slightly dissapointed, but he rebounded quickly.
"What kind of practice? Is it self-inflicted or during combat scenarios? Have you noticed the amount of adrenaline in your system affecting how much you're able to resist?"
He really was asking the wrong guy about this, Jabber would probably love to talk his ear off about this topic. Those two would probably get on like a house on fire.
"Combat. And no, I haven't noticed. Now, what. goals. are ya talking about?"
"The pursuit of knowledge, of course! Knowledge that will help us create more vital instruments, and more Givers! We still understand so little about the nature of Givers, and of vital instruments, despite them having been around for ages! What makes someone capable of drawing out the soul of an object, how exactly they're different to a person who can't. Why their instrument can change as it's user does. It's necessary knowledge we don't have. We used to study Shinen as the base of our research on Anima, trash beasts are much easier to get ahold of than givers, afterall. But you can't ask a trash beast what the energy coursing inside them feels like. You can't monitor its vitals, or measure its response to stimuli in anything more quantitative than decibels, really. So we had to switch gears. It's terrible, I know, and I really do feel awful, but its for the good of humanity as a whole, I promise. Your sacrifice will speed up decades of research."
"Oh great, so yer insane."
"All breakthrough discoveries about humans come at the cost of humans. It's our curse. History won't remember us fondly, and I won't expect them to. But the information we gain by scientific exploration not held back by ethics and red tape will change the world. It brings me no joy to hurt you, it really doesn't. And I understand that you'll hate me no matter what I say, but I hope it brings you some comfort that we're both sacrificing something for the greater good."
The audacity made Zanka's blood boil.
"Don't make me laugh, yer not sacrificing anything, you're not the one strapped to this stupid chair with a godamn collar around your neck, so until you are, I don't wanna hear it! You can bitch and moan all you want but you're not giving up anything other than yer reputation, which I doubt was even good to begin with."
And, because apparently he'd decided to really commit to digging his own grave, he lashed out the only way he could. As effectively as he could while restrained, he spat at the old man, trying to land it on his notebook. Or his face. He was about a couple feet short, it landing on the edge of the counter, and as he did, blow gun guy –who had finished setting up and had just been listening to their conversation– stiffened angrily, and made a move to walk over, probably to clobber Zanka, before being stopped by the old man raising a single hand. The man sighed, readjusting his glasses and looked at him once more.
"I'm sorry you can't understand. And I forgive you. I hope, if theres anything beyond this life, that you can eventually forgive me."
"Would you just shut up! I'm sick of yer monologing."
"Okay," He said evenly, switching to a different notebook. "Let's begin then. Today will be something of a calibration. Ivan, hook him up."
Blow dart guy came forward then, attaching a thin plastic tube with some sort of adaptor on both ends to an area of his collar he couldn't see. He stood behind him, which was smart on his part because if he'd been anywhere in front of Zanka he definitely would've tried to hack another loogie at him, consequences be damned. He missed the first part of the old mans sentence while he was fantasizing about it, tuning back in to him talking to his assistant.
"-zine. lets start with 50 mg and increase by 10 at intervals of 90 seconds until blood pressure reaches 160/100."
He could hear a vial being grabbed, and within a minute, he heard a stopwatch turn on as seconds later a burning pain started at the back of his neck, quickly traveling throughout his entire body, setting his nerves on fire. He didn't recognize it specifically as one Jabber had used before, though the general feeling itself was familiar.
He focused on breathing, and tried mentally to separate the pain from himself. If anything, it was easier than fighting Jabber, because here all he had to do was endure it. He didn't have to move around and fight, too. Or deal with Jabbers infuriating personality, which was also a plus.
...He did wish it would stop getting worse though.
Every time he just started to get used to the pain level it would increase into something new and uniquely awful. It just kept building, continually rising to a level where he found himself clenching his jaw to keep from screaming. Each breath he dragged through his nose was a conscious act.
He wasn't sure how long it had been, the pain making time slow down and speed up all at once, but he was starting to reach his limit. His vision was going slightly black around the edges, and he knew from experience it would tunnel in further and further until he lost vision entirely and eventually passed out.
He could hear the two scientists talking in the back of his mind, muffled sounds that made no sense to him. And as blackness slowly blotted out the last pinholes of his vision, he hoped the pain didn't follow him into unconsciousness, and finally slipped away.
...
A now-familiar shock jolted him into awakeness, vision blurry and body heaving. He was still in the chair, still strapped in.
"Ah good, you're back with us. We're flushing that out of your system right now. You did very well!"
What? He could feel his hands shaking, his whole body felt like it had been taken off and put back on inside-out. He must have been making a confused face because the old man elaborated.
"That was just the first test, we've got a few others we need to run to establish a good baseline for what you can handle to be our control before we start intruducing other variables."
The words didn't register further than realizing he was gonna have to go through that again, that even unconsciousness hadn't saved him. His mouth was dry and his throat burned, trying to swallow on nothing.
"Ah, would you like some water? We need a minute to let your body reset from the last toxin anyway. I'll get you some."
Zanka just watched as he opened a cabinet and got a small paper cup, walking over to the sink and filling it up. He crossed over to Zanka's prone form and tilted it to his lips. It was humiliating, having someone else help him drink, but the cool water was heaven, and he couldn't help but gulp it down.
The strange accent of the other guy, whatever his name had been, sounded out from behind him. "Vitals stable, toxin 1 fully flushed. Ready for trial 2."
"No." He croaked, and was promptly ignored.
"Perfect, I think we can start at a slightly higher dose, resistence seems to span multiple types of toxins."
This was hell. He wanted Lovely Assistaff back, and he hated thinking about what these freaks were probably doing to her. He wanted to go home, wanted to be in his own bed. He wondered what his team was doing right now, and allowed himself to take some comfort in the fact that whatever they were doing, at least they weren't here.
Yeah, if anyone was gonna be stuck here, probably best it was him.
That was his last thought before another, different, freezing pain got pumped into his system, and everything started all over again.
...
Zanka woke up feeling like death warmed over, an experience he was getting way too familiar with for his liking. He'd passed out after the final test, like he had with all the others, and instead of shocking him awake again he was guessing they took advantage of his limp state and brought him back to the cell. He rubbed his eyes, just laying there staring at the ceiling. He seemed to be doing a lot of that these days. He wondered what time it was.
"Oh hey, you're up!" Chirped Jabber from his cell, sounding way too energetic. "That was crazy huh? What'd they do for you? They kept makin me pass out and wake back up, it was a rush. Got a little boring after the first couple times, though, not gonna lie."
A little boring. God, this was all so unfair. Another one of the universe's cruel jokes on him, to be trapped and tortured with someone who couldnt even share his misery at the situation. Who was bored by it, of all things.
"Yoohoo, ground to Zanka? Don't tell me you're ignorin me man, I thought we got over that. I still got another shoe y'know."
"...Don't you dare."
"There he is!" He could hear the smile in his voice. "So? What'd they do?"
He sat up, rolling his shoulders. Fuck it. He supposed they were technically temporary allies by default while trapped here, though he didn't hold his breath that that would extend anywhere past the exchanging of information.
"Same as you, I think. Old dude wouldn't stop talking about his 'research'," Zanka said with heavy finger quotes. "saying how he was a 'necessary evil' and a bunch of other nonsense before dosing me up with poison. Prick. I bet you two got along just fine."
Jabber laughed at Zanka's obvious bitterness.
"Nah, that guy was so boring. Going on and on about 'the good of humanity' as if I give a shit about that. Wasn't even strong either, probably wouldn't last a half second against Mankira's claws. I'd fight the woman before I fought him, he's not even worth the time it'd take to skewer him."
"The woman? What woman?"
Now it was Jabbers turn to look mildly confused.
"Uhhh, y'know, the-" he mimed something vaguely around his head and Zanka stared at him blankly, having absolutely no idea what he was trying to convey. "with the hair, big muscles, y'know!"
"I really don't. There was no woman with him when I went, just the asshole that hit me with the blow gun."
"Pffft. You got hit with a blow gun? Dude."
He felt his face redden. "Oh shut up, I'd just gotten done fighting a big horde of trash beasts and we were in the middle of nowhere, I wasn't expectin it. He caught me off guard, that's all." He paused. "How'd you get taken, anyway?"
"Bob girl sold me a crazy new paralytic for Mankira and I had to try it out, guess she followed me back to my place cause she came in just as it was starting to get good, put me in a chloroform sack from behind and everything, I could barely move. It was awesome. And then I woke up here."
"Thats....yeah, that checks out. Only you, Jabber."
"Awwwe, Zan-zan."
"Wasn't a compliment."
With a final snicker from Jabber, they settled into a surprisingly tolerable silence.
Of course it couldn't last for long, maybe a minute at most, before Jabber, who had been tapping his bare foot against the ground with increasing speed, had to ruin it. He groaned dramatically, flopping onto the ground.
"This is so boriiiing. We gotta do something."
Zanka rolled his eyes. "What, like eye spy?" He mocked.
"I dunno, something. You wanna take turns punching each other til one of us passes out?"
"Fuck no."
"Ughhhh!" Jabber whined. "C'mon man, I haven't had a decent fight since our last run in, I'm dyin here."
He hated how the sound of Jabber begging made something in his stomach flip. He chose to ignore it. He was getting pretty good at that.
"What, being tortured not exciting enough fer ya? Isn't this like your dream or something?"
"That's different. Well- I mean yeah, but it's no fun when the person doing it ain't interesting at all. And besides, all they're doin is giving me poisons. Which don't get me wrong, they're great! But I can do that at home."
"How truly terrible for you." He deadpanned.
"I know, right?" Ugh. "So what do you wanna do?"
"I'd like to sit in silence."
"Thats so boring thoughh, and you're not boring, are you Zanka?"
An obvious press at his buttons, but for once he didn't rise to it, already too worn out from everything that had happened earlier, and everything that had been happening in the last 48 hours. He stayed quiet, trying to remember the other doors he'd passed on his way to the lab. Maybe there was something in one of them he could use, if he managed to break free. Or maybe one of them led to an exit. He'd have to try and take a closer look the next time they took him down, though he dreaded the idea of being locked in that chair again.
"I spy...something that starts with a B."
"Are you serious right now? I was joking."
Jabber just grinned at him in response. Stupid. Zanka heaved out a sigh.
"Fine. Bars."
"Nope!"
Genuinely surprising. He took a second to actually look around, and then across at the dark cells opposite them.
"Blackness."
"Wrong again, you kinda suck at this man."
He glared at Jabber, and upon actually making eye contact and looking at his face, he suddenly had his answer.
"...Blood."
"Ding ding ding! We got a winner! Okay, your turn."
Well, it wasn't like not doing it would make the time go by any faster. He sighed.
"I spy something that starts with P."
...
They went back and forth for a couple rounds before quickly running out of material, since the sparse cells didn't offer much in the way of objects. (After an "F" hint from Jabber, when floor had already been guessed, Zanka refused to keep going, not giving Jabber the satasfaction, though the man in question almost pissed himself laughing anyway.) They transitioned to 20 questions, and Zanka had just gotten Jabbers item, a grenade, on the 13th question when the familiar sound of footsteps came from his right.
A distant anxiety pulsed through him. It was way too soon for them to bring him back, right? There was no way. He went tense as the two guards came into view, holding a tray of food. Ah. He forgot about the fact that they still needed to eat. He eyed the single tray curiously. Oh right, Jabber had lost his food privilages earlier. When had that been? This morning? Or was it morning now? It was impossible to tell.
"Against the wall."
Zanka moved without a fight. Better to keep a low profile for now and let them think they'd started beating him down while he planned his escape.
The small door opened, food sliding in, before locking once more. The guards went back to the right and exited around the corner, making it their fastest visit yet.
Zanka looked at his options. A large breadroll, and what looked like cooked but unseasoned cubes of tofu in a bowl, as well as the same large cup of water. He drank some of that first, realizing just how dehydrated he'd been, despite the small drinks he'd gotten in between tests in the lab. Honestly, if he was still thirsty, Jabber must have been parched. He looked over to see Jabber crouching next to the bars, just looking at him.
He was surprised and slightly unnerved by the fact that Jabber hadn't asked for any of his food yet, despite looking at it in a way that clearly showed his hunger.
"What, not gonna ask for some?" Zanka questioned, against his better judgement.
Jabbers eyes seemed to glow in the light. "Do you want me to ask for some?"
Before Zanka could answer, Jabber grinned as he moved onto his knees, lacing his fingers in front of his chest and looking up at Zanka through his eyelashes.
"Please, Zan-kah?" he asked sweetly, tilting his head.
Fuck.
He immediately snapped his gaze back to the food. What the hell. "Get up, idiot. Don't make me punch you again."
Jabber's eyes crinkled with pure joy, and he was sure if he had a tail it would be wagging.
He ripped off a small quarter of the partly stale breadroll with more force than necessary. He may have been nice enough to share, but no way was he giving him half. Especially after that. He opened it up and put a handful of pieces of the tofu on it, like the worlds strangest open faced sandwich.
"Okay. I swear to god, If you try some weird shit when I give this to you again yer not getting anything else from me ever." He warned sternly.
"Sure, deal." Jabber replied easily, and stuck his hands through the bars over to Zanka's side as a show of good faith. After a moment of staring at him suspiciously, he placed the food into Jabbers waiting hands, and when they pulled back Zanka could've sworn Jabber's fingers had glided against his own just a little bit longer than was necessary. But it could have just been his imagination, or his hypersensitivity to the feeling of Jabbers skin on his, and he wasn't about to embarass himself by bringing it up if it was nothing, so he pretended he hadn't noticed.
Jabber happily bit into his Zanka's meal, and hummed as he chewed.
"Honestly," He said, food still in his mouth, "not as bad as last time."
Zanka hadn't tried a bite yet, but weirdly found himself agreeing anyway as he watched him.
No, somehow it really wasn't.
Notes