After a bit of time, Zanka eventually managed to calm himself down –in more ways than one– and the morning continued as usual, or at least as usual as it could be given everything, until familiar distant footsteps signaled the arrival of the guards.
They came a bit later than Zanka expected, but he could assume that Jabber had just woken up weirdly early, if not for the fact that they came from the left, where the labs were. Maybe his stunt had messed up the doors to the kitchen?
Except they weren't there to deliver food. They were apparently there to take Jabber to the lab for the day, something they did with the usual amount of fanfare, save for a couple extra cold glares sent in his direction. He'd fully expected to be denied food for his escape attempt, but why didn't they bring anything for Jabber? Had they caught on to the fact that Zanka had shared his food with him and expected Jabber would do the same? Zanka seriously doubted he would, but they didn't know that. Or was it a collective punishment to dissuade further attempts?
So many questions, and zero chance he'd be getting any answers from them, so he didn't bother, just watching them take Jabber down the hall.
...
The weirdness didn't stop there, as once they brought Jabber back, they didn't pay Zanka any mind at all. Simply tossing Jabber in, relocking the door, and walking away.
Huh. A rest day? He supposed his shoulder was still pretty messed up, and had only been made worse by his fight with Jabber, so he probably wouldn't be the best test subject under the circumstances. Still though, it was strange, and it only put him further on edge.
...
Not being taken to the labs meant that for the first time, he was afforded the opportunity to see Jabber's inital recovery from an experiment instead of the other way around, and couldn't deny he was curious.
Apparently, Jabber waking up from the tranquilizer was different than him waking up from sleep.
Namely, the chief difference being that he jolted himself awake, instead of his usual slow drift into consciousness. It almost made Zanka jump too, and he watched cautiously. Jabber was facing away from him as he laid there for a moment before he slowly sat up, and Zanka realized Jabber didn't know he was there.
He couldn't see his face, but he could tell he wasn't as relaxed as usual, slightly tense shoulders betraying an underlying anxiety that was disconcerting to see on Jabber. He seemed to be half-absenmindedly rubbing his fingers over each other, fidgeting with the areas Mankira usually laid.
Right, he was being put through his own series of tests with her. He wondered what they'd been doing.
It was one of the few things they didn't talk about, something that had surprised Zanka at first given Jabber's eagerness to compare notes after the first round of tests, but after they'd started messing with Lovely Assistaff Zanka hadn't wanted to recount his own experiences and decided not to look that particular gift horse in the mouth.
It was weird seeing Jabber so pensive. There was something so deeply wrong about it, and Zanka suddenly felt the overwhelming need to shatter the silence. Only he couldnt think of anything to say, and the longer he waited the more awkward he felt.
His eyes drifted around the cell and landed on his salvation, one of Jabbers shoes, still held hostage on his side from the last time Jabber had thrown it at him and missed. Perfect.
As quietly as he could, he reached over and picked it up, before chucking it towards the back of Jabbers head.
The sound of it flying through the air caused Jabber to turn his head, but he was too slow to dodge as it connected with the side of his head, knocking it to the side as the shoe bounced off somewhere.
"Yowch!" Jabber turned around fully, and at the pain, or at the sight of Zanka, or maybe both, a familiar, easy smile lit up his face. "Damn, how long you been there? Did I really sleep that long?"
And just like that, he was back to his regular self. Zanka hated how relieved it made him feel.
"Nah, they didn't take me today. Who knows why. Probably cause of the bullet wound, but who knows how long that'll last."
Jabber stretched his arms out above him with a yawn, once again revealing a tiny strip of skin on his stomach, but only for a second. Zanka let his eyes roll over it briefly, returning his gaze to Jabbers face before the other reopened his eyes.
"Luckyy, maybe I should make a run for it too, get some time off."
"Lucky, huh? I thought ya didn't care about the tests. Liked em, even."
Jabber actually broke eye contact at that, only slightly, but still something he'd never done. His relaxed body language didn't change, but one of his hands came up to the other, rubbing the same area as before, just below his knuckles.
"Weak ass losers keep messin with Mankira. Not gonna lie, its kinda startin to piss me off for real."
Now you know how I feel.
It made sense though, it was easy to forget in Jabbers bloodlust and want for pain that he did care about the safety of his beloved rings.
"Doesn't matter too much though." Jabber continued easily, looking at Zanka again. "They just keep makin her stronger, with all the new poisons an' shit. When I bust outta here they won't know what hit em. Almost a shame none of em will last long enough to really feel it."
So he did wanna get out. And he'd had the nerve to call Zanka out for not being honest. Hypocrite.
"Well I got dibs on the old man, so paws off. Lovely Assistaff's gonna help me make him regret some things before I kill him." Zanka promised.
Jabber looked like he'd won the lottery, dark eyes shining as he stared at him intensely.
"Careful, you'll make me swoon. But I also had my eye on the guy. Guess its whoever gets to him first."
Zanka stared right back, not backing down for a second. Even in a hypothetical, he couldn't pass up the thought of breaking the old man's bones with Assistaff, but he had to admit there would be something poetic about making him endure the same toxins he'd been pumping in them.
"I ain't opposed to sharin'."
Jabber looked hungry, and there was a slight flushed quality to his cheeks.
"Damn, that's the sorta thing I normally hate, but I guess I could make an exception."
...
Dinner came around and finally, the guards showed up from the right with some food, putting the solitary tray in Jabbers cell before leaving again.
Zanka couldn't see what exactly it was and he told himself he didn't care, even when his stomach disagreed. Loudly.
Jabber laughed at the sound and looked over towards Zanka.
"What, not gonna ask for some?" He mocked, giving Zanka deja vu.
"You're not gettin' a 'please' outta me if my life depended on it." Zanka deadpanned.
"Ugh, you're no fun." Jabber replied, sticking his tongue out. "Catch."
Mostly on instinct –probably due in no small part to the game they'd been playing– Zanka managed to catch whatever was being tossed towards him without dropping it. It was another bread roll, ripped in half.
He looked back up at Jabber with a surprised skepticism, raising an eyebrow.
Jabber just shrugged. "Fairs fair. Plus, can't have you all skin and bones by the time we get outta here. You promised me some fights, remember?"
Right, he had done that. That morning felt like forever ago. Somehow in the span of about 24 hours he'd managed to go from completely hopeless about escape to half-joking with Jabber about it like it was already a forgone conclusion.
It was scary sometimes, how easily Jabber seemed to be able to affect his mood by just existing. And scarier still was how he was starting to mind it less and less. Or maybe he was just building a tolerance. (He thought back to their fight, and what had happened after.)
...Actually, maybe he wasn't.
"There's soup too, if you want it."
Jabbers voice brought him out of his thoughts and he looked down by the floor, where the bowl was pressed up against the bars. Some sort of red blended soup, probably tomato.
He still remembered the first soup incident, and kept his eyes on Jabber as he tore off a piece of bread and dunked it.
Jabber, as if reading his mind, just winked, before ripping off some bread and following Zankas lead.
For a minute they just sat in silence and ate together. It was strangely domestic somehow, in a way it hadn't been in the days to weeks prior. Casual in a way it really shouldn't be simply because it was the two of them. Just that morning they'd been trying to rip each others faces off.
It really had been a long day.
That reminded him.
"Hey, ya got any idea why they didn't give ya food this morning?"
"Oh that?" Jabber ate another piece of soup-dipped bread, speaking with his mouth still full. "Probably cause I grabbed your remote when you made a run for it. They didn't bring me any last night either."
Zanka paused all his movements and just stared at him. There was a lot to unpack in that but he decided to start with the most pressing. And the least complicated.
"My remote? What d'ya mean?"
Jabber finished his bite and gave Zanka a slightly patronizing expression.
"What, you didnt notice? Tweedledee's remote only works for you, Tweedledum's only works for me."
He must have been talking about the guards, but that thought was overshadowed by the final puzzle piece clicking into place. *That* was why the taller guard only ever interacted with Jabber, and the shorter with him. Whichever guard stayed outside the cell had the corresponding remote as extra insurance. It was so obvious he kicked himself for not putting it together sooner. And even worse was the fact that Jabber had realized it, probably pretty early on if his casual tone was any indication.
"How do ya know that for sure though? Who's to say it isn't just based on where the remote's pointing, and we just each have a specific guard assigned to us arbitrarily?"
"Didn't know it for sure til your little runaway routine. They been gettin mad lazy, not even making me move to the back when they drop you off anymore. Whenever Tweedledee opens your door they end up real close to me. So when you started doin your shit I made a grab for the gun. Dude was fast though, and I just ended up making the remote fly off somewhere. Tweedledum should've gone for his if it worked on you, but he went for the gun instead."
Zanka just stared in stunned silence. Jabber must have reacted faster than either of the guards when Zanka made his move, despite having no clue he was gonna do it. And not only that, but he'd tried to help Zanka escape. He hadhelped him, that was probably what had allowed him to clear the hallway and make it around that first corner into the kitchen, and them picking the remote off the ground likely gave him the time he needed to tie up the door. He pushed down the myriad of emotions that accompanied that realization. Everything about it was insane.
"Pick your jaw up off the floor man, I know your good friend Jabber's crazy smart and talented but you should really know that by now." Jabber teased.
"Oh shut up." Zanka replied on instinct.
Now he really did feel guilty about his plan to leave Jabber behind. Maybe if he'd just told him, things could have gone differently. Maybe they could've gotten out together.
...Maybe they still could.
...
In spite of Zanka's expectations, it seemed Jabber was sticking to his word about not bringing up what had happened between them after the fight, even when there were moments it was clear he really wanted to. But still, he managed to keep his mouth shut apart from the regular amount of flirty comments Zanka had long since grown used to. It was almost comical to know exactly where teasing Zanka stood on Jabbers list of priorities. Evidently, it was right below fighting him. And maybe also sleeping with him. He hadn't exactly been specific about what his threat of not touching Jabber entailed, but he could add it to the pile of things to worry about later.
Probably the weirdest part of all of it was how little it had actually changed. They still played stupid games to pass the time, still argued and tried their best to annoy each other with varying degrees of success. And sure, most of that could be attributed to whole "not-talking-about-it" thing, but there wasn't the new thick layer of tension he'd expected. If anything, it seemed like a bit of whatever tension permanently existed between the two of them had slightly dissipated and been replaced with something else.
That being said, the heat he caught Jabber looking at him with sometimes had something new to it now, and he hated how much he liked whatever it was.
...
It was three days, by his count, before they brought him food again. Compared to the kind of starvation-based punishments the Hell Guard would dole out it was almost laughable, but he reasoned it probably would have been longer if they didn't need to keep him in a somewhat healthy state in order to get usable data from him.
He could only assume his shoulder wound was healing well enough, though while they'd cared enough to wrap it after cauterization, they didn't make any move to change the bandages, and every time he moved his left shoulder he could feel the wraps sticking uncomfortably to his skin, especially on his back, the gauze fused to the wound.
Jabber had continued to share his food with him over the three days, much to his surprise, and a couple times Zanka had forgone drinking his share of water in favor of using it to try and keep the area under the bandages that wasn't stuck down free of sweat and dirt as best he could, hopefully warding off infection.
Unfortunately, the return of food apparently also meant the return of experiments, and when the shorter guard finally entered his cell again after bringing Jabber back he was intentionally rough with Zanka, yanking his arms behind his back in a way that made zanka grit his teeth, not willing to give him the satasfaction of a pained noise.
They half-dragged him down the hall, but instead of the usual security door to the right, they scanned open the one on the left, and Zanka subtly perked up. The door opened up to a similarly white, sterile hallway, and he tried not to make it obvious as he looked around, taking in everything he could. A right turn followed by a left led them to a series of doors, of which they entered the first one, scanning the card once more. Zanka noticed the shorter guard now wore their lanyard around their neck like the taller, and internally felt a tiny bit of smug satasfaction at the thought that he'd probably been chastised.
The door opened to a room that looked like a typical patient examination room. No lab component, no wall, and most importantly no weird-as-fuck torture chair. Only a small area with a sink and cabinets, and an examination table. Looking at it he got another strange sense of deja vu before he realized it was probably where they'd taken him to cauterize his bullet wound. The vague memory of the burning pain did nothing to soothe the anxiety still slowly building in him at the change in routine.
The guards lifted him up by his arms, the action making the wound in his shoulder scream with pain, and set him up so he was sitting on the edge of the table.
In the shuffle he managed to get a halfhearted kick off on the taller guard that could be considered accidental, though all of them knew it wasn't, and he got a harsh yank on his injured shoulder in return.
Then, the taller guard stepped back a few paces until he was almost at the wall, before pulling out his gun and leveling it at Zanka.
Zanka froze, heartbeat speeding up as he stared down the barrel. His thoughts raced a mile a minute. Why now? Did he stay still? Did he move? Could he dodge it from this distance, sitting down and with his hands locked behind his back? Should he try and say something? Would that make it worse? His mind ran endless permutations, rapidly trying to find what he could do that would result in him not being shot.
In his panic he almost didn't notice the shorter guard pulling out another pair of cuffs and crouching down, jolting slightly before forcing himself to stay still as the metal closed around his ankles, locking them together. Running was no longer an option, not that it really had been.
The shorter guard moved behind him then, and Zanka stayed with his eyes locked on the trigger of the pistol. He felt the cuffs on his hands being undone and removed, but he didn't dare move them from their position, even as he heard the shorter guard step back, staying behind him.
"Strip."
The pounding in his ears got louder and he stayed frozen, staring with wide eyes.
There was no way. He knew they were mad but this? This was completely out of left field, something he hadn't even considered as something to worry about. Just how bad had he pissed them off? What could he do?
At his lack of movement the taller guard tightened his grip on the gun and the millimeter of movement kicked Zanka into gear, hands coming around and up to the fabric at his neck. He knew exactly how much pressure it took to go from resting on the trigger to actually firing it, and the grip he had on the gun was bordering closer to the latter. He unzipped his vest and discarded it next to him with fingers that he tried to keep steady. This wasn't happening. He pulled his long sleeve shirt off over his head as best he could with one arm as his thoughts raced faster than he could hold on to them. This was a new type of fear, one he wasn't used to. A primal fear that overrode all logical thought and left him drowning in panic. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He pulled off his undershirt slowly, his final layer on his top half, and the cold air of the room hit his stomach and chest. He wanted to throw up. He felt like he might.
He wanted to curl into a ball and hide from the cold, emotionless gaze of the guard in front of him. But he couldn't, not while the gun was still on him. Not when the worst was still yet to come.
He tried to steel himself and failed, barely stopping himself from doing something stupid like begging, and reached down to the belt around his waist with trembling hands.
"Thats enough." Came the voice of the guard in front of him before he did anything more than touch the buckle, and at the same time he heard a snort from the shorter guard behind him.
Relief, anger, and shame crashed into him at once, leaving him breathless. Thank god. Thank anything.
The taller guard lifted a hand to their choker.
"You can come in."
The door unlocked and opened, and in came a middle aged man in a lab coat, stethoscope around his neck. Not that it mattered. Not that anything mattered because Zanka was too busy trying to put himself back together. Trying to reorient himself after feeling like he'd been shoved into a snowglobe and shaken forcefully.
They were just there to check on his wound. That was all. That was all it was.
The man was speaking, probably to him, but all he could hear was static.
At the glow of a vital instrument activating he managed to mostly snap out of it, looking up to see the mans stethoscope moving with a life of its own, snaking through the air before landing on Zanka's bare chest. The cool metal felt alien and uncomfortable and it quickly moved to his shoulder, then his stomach, then his head, slithering around all over while the man listened through the ear pieces, humming with interest at each pause as his finger pantomimed writing something.
It was violating, the feel of it making Zankas skin crawl and he was glad when it finally ended, stethoscope returning to normal as the man wrapped it back around his neck and adressed the guards.
"Okay, looks mostly good. Some new trauma to the wound site, among other places. Very slight nasal fracture, but that should heal just fine on its own. Remnants of a grade 2 concussion caused by direct impact injury to the temple but again, nothing to worry about. Nutrition and hydration levels slightly below normal. Perforating GSW healing at a slower than normal rate, likely due to continued use of the left arm. White blood cell count slightly higher than expected, potential infection risk. Normal amount of serous fluid produced from cauterization. I do wish you'd let me use stitches, but alas. Overall, subject is cleared for resumed testing, though injuries should be taken into account when extrapolating results. Obviously."
Obviously. Like he was just talking about the weather. He wasn't even looking at Zanka, instead speaking only to the guards. It was infuriating. Anger was familiar, he could hold on to that.
"Let's clean the wound with an antibacterial spray and and re-wrap it, then we should be all good here!"
The doctor got some equipment from the cupboards and came around to Zanka's left side. He used flat scissors to cut away the bandage until the only parts left were the areas right over his wound, still stuck to it.
"Deep breath." Was the only warning he got before the man started to pull the bandage away. It hurt like hell and Zanka sucked a breath in through his teeth, making a fist and feeling his nails dig into his palm. He fought the overwhelming instinct to punch the guy, only stopped by the still-present threat of the gun in front of him. He couldn't see the guard behind him but he'd be willing to bet he was doing the same. Bastards.
The man moved to the front and repeated the same painful action, pulling something close to a growl from Zankas throat, but none of them reacted, save for a slight chuckle from the doctor. This place just loved to hire crazies, huh.
With the wrappings off he got his first real look at his shoulder. The skin was red and angry, both from the inital injuries and the removal of the bandage, a hole of skin forced together and burned into place. It didn't take a genius to know it would scar, and the idea of this place leaving such a permanent mark on him sat sour in his throat.
The feeling of the spray on the front of his shoulder almost made him pass out, body heaving forward without permission, while they took advantage of that to spray his back. It left his entire body vibrating. Luckily it seemed the guards were at least somewhat understanding, and let him take a breath before he sat back up. The doctor laid a pad of hopefully nonstick gauze over both sides of the wound and wrapped it again in clean, white bandages. The pressure of the cloth helped ease the pain, but only slightly.
The doctor, now finished, bid adieu to the two guards, still without even looking at Zanka, and scanned himself out of the room.
Then it was just Zanka and the guards again. The taller motioned with his gun to the pile of clothes next to him.
"Alright. Get dressed."
He'd never been so willing to follow one of their orders, pulling on his clothes as fast as he could, trying to preserve what little dignity he had left.
Once he was fully dressed again they secured his arms behind his back and undid the cuffs connecting his legs, pulling him off the table in a way that made him stumble for only a second.
They left the room with him, going a different direction to the one they came from, and Zanka continued to look around, knowing he possibly wouldn't get a chance like this again. If they brought him around to the normal lab room from a different direction it would be huge in helping him mentally map out the corridors. On the other hand, it would also mean that he'd be doing an experiment on top of the bullshit he'd already gone through, but it was something at least. Plus, after that, an experiment might even help him take his mind off the residual, irrational fear still simmering low in his stomach. He knew what to expect there, at least.
They turned into a now familiar hallway, because the universe always loved to call Zanka's bluff, and entered into the usual lab.
The old man was already inside with his assistant, and as usual tried to be friendly with Zanka, asking about his injuries while ignoring Zanka's obvious disdain as they moved him in the testing room, and bemoaning how they were now several days behind schedule. Zanka didn't care about whatever self-imposed timeline the man had created, and made sure he knew it. As usual though, his agency extended only as far as words, and unlike Zanka, they got to choose whether or not to listen to him.
Secured once more to the chair, the old mans voice crackled over the intercom.
"Let's not waste any more time, then. We've got a lot to make up for!"
...
He woke up back in the cell. They definitely refilled the tranquilizer then, he didn't even remember feeling it.
It had been similar to the first visit, in that they hadn't brought in Assistaff, and apparently they'd decided to redo all the trials from that day too. He wasn't sure if it was to get a new baseline post-injury or punish him for trying to escape. Probably both. Either way, the residual feeling of the trials paired with the ache in his shoulder left him feeling worse than he had in a long time.
He laid there for a minute before as always, Jabber's voice brought him out of it. He really was a nuisance, but he was a good distraction if nothing else. And Zanka needed a distraction.
...
Apparently Jabber had been more serious about escape than Zanka thought, since they started planning in earnest that night. It made him really wonder what they'd been doing with Mankira, since he struggled think of any other reason –other than boredom– that would make Jabber so eager to leave now.
A good handful of Jabber's ideas were stupidly risky, and more likely to fail fantastically than succeed, but a surprising amount of them were well-founded, a lot even being similar to Zanka's own.
He learned that the room they took Jabber to was in a different hallway than his, and together they did their best to map out the facility, scratching a rough map into the ground near the back of the cells. With the dim light and inability to make especially deep scratches, it was only visible to those who knew what to look for, which hopefully meant the guards wouldn't notice it at all. Catching them off guard would be key.
...
The days went back to their usual schedule and routine, save the addition of nightly brainstorming sessions, and an increasing itch in Zanka's shoulder. When three more days went by without a rewrapping, and then a fourth and fifth, he came to terms with the fact that he likely wouldn't be getting the dressing changed again. Whether it was because they'd decided to make it part of their experiment or if they just didn't care about it past his short-term survival, it seemed he was on his own. And even with his best efforts, water and care could only do so much against the dirt of the ground and the fact that he couldn't change the bandages or his clothes. The skin around the wound was getting a bit warmer each day, redness starting to extend past the inital burned area. Definitely the beginnings of an infection. It only made him more determined to get out. He wouldn't mess up again this time.
He'd thought about hiding the infection from Jabber, but let it never be said that he didn't learn from his mistakes. As much as he hated it, Jabber needed to know about something that could potentially impact their escape.
Jabber gave him shit for it, as expected, but it didn't escape Zanka's notice how after, he increased his efforts to plan and get information.
He was impossible to figure out. So simple and so complex at the same time, a walking contradiction in nearly every way.
Still though, he was deceptively smart and Zanka found himself glad they were allies. Working together they had a real chance.
He only hoped that after they were out, things between them didn't get any more complicated than they already were.
Notes