Chapter Text
Everything was blurred at the edges. Shapes without meaning. Voices without names.
Light filtered through tall windows left slightly open, carrying in a thin breeze that moved the curtains without warmth. The walls were pale and worn, The place lined with beds separated by simple frames. Everything felt orderly. Temporary. Clinical.
He was sitting upright on one of them.
The sheets were pulled around his waist. His back rested against the pillows. Metal rails framed the bed, not confining him, but marking the space as separate from the rest of the room.
His body ached in a way that felt distant, as if the pain belonged to someone else and had simply chosen him as its host.
He tried to think.
Nothing answered.
His mind was a sealed room, no doors, no windows, only a pressure behind his eyes, thick and suffocating.
And the people.
They surrounded the bed, looking at him as though he were a spectacle. Faces he should’ve known. Faces that meant nothing.
“It seems the memory loss is real.”
A girl who had been examining him spoke calmly. He remembered someone calling her Eishia. A doctor, then.
Memory loss.
The words landed heavily.
“There’s no structural damage,” she continued. “The toxin interfered with cognitive function. The gaps may be temporary.”
Toxin, so that was the reason.
He studied the room, Voices overlapped — Enjin, Rudo, Riyo, Gris. He caught their names as they called out to one another, loud and careless, as he wasn't the one fractured in the center of it all.
Enjin was the loudest, cracking jokes like this was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Rudo stood too close wearing a weird smile that creeped him out. Riyo and Gris lingered quietly, their expressions harder to read.
Strangers. All of them.
“His vitals are stable. The toxin is gone from his system, but the brain needs time. Let him rest. Memory can return gradually once his body regains balance.”
Eishia stepped back.
So it was real.
He lowered his gaze to his hands, fingers laced tightly together as if they belonged to someone else. He hadn’t realised he was staring at them.
“Alright, out,” Enjin said lightly. “I know Zanka. He’ll get through this. Let him rest.”
Rest?
They moved toward the door.
No , wait , they need to stay. He needed someone to tell him who he was, why his body felt broken, why his mind was hollow.
He tried to call out.
Nothing came.
His throat burned, dry and useless, the ache in his limbs pinned him in place. The door shut.
Silence returned, heavier than before.
The breeze turned colder. It slid across his face and through his hair, he lifted a hand to cover his eyes.
Zanka…
That was the only thing he had, his name.
A name spoken by someone who sounded certain.
But who was he?
________________
After staring blankly at the blanket , his hand resting above it, lost like a stray puppy searching for direction. Zanka finally decided to move. Perhaps even the smallest action could refresh his heavy mood.
He shifted the blanket aside and lowered his legs to the floor, trying to steady both his body and his thoughts. He focused carefully, attempting to gather balance so he could stand without falling.
But that was not the only thing that he had to worry about, a sudden flash of yellow and blue light illuminated his face. From it emerged two figures. A circular portal had opened in the middle of the room.
Zanka froze
He stopped getting up, instead he remained seated, staring in disbelief. What had just happened? Who were these people? How had they appeared in front of him without warning? Another strange event added to the growing pile of confusion.
“You can go now, Cthoni.”
“okeyy, but I’m not doing this again,” the girl stepped back into the portal as she spoke, and the light swallowed her once more.
The boy remained, he held Zanka’s gaze without hesitation, his smile stretching wide – not warm, not friendly, but deliberate. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at him, as if he were studying a reaction he already anticipated. His presence was intrusive.And yet… there was something familiar.
Not in memory.
In sensation.
The faint trace of his scent in the air. The weight of his proximity. The confidence in the way he occupied space without asking permission, he filled the room just with a grin.
“Is it true you lost your memory, Zan-Zan?”
Zanka didn’t know this boy. He stood in confusion, shifting his gaze up and down to examine the stranger who had just appeared in front of him. Perhaps he had known him before the memory loss.
“Who are you?” the words barely left Zanka’s mouth, each syllable felt heavy, he swallowed trying to process everything. “Didn’t they tell you I can’t recognize anyone right now?” Even while speaking through effort, he forced himself to stay calm, a strange feeling in the back of his mind suggested that this person might hold answers.
“I’m Jabber. Don’t you remember me? Man what shame, our last fight was unforgettable, so Cthoni was right you don’t remember anything,”
Zanka watched as Jabber spoke with a grin, moving constantly. His locs swayed with every motion. Of course, Zanka understood none of what he was saying.
“I figured something out,” Jabber continued. “I can push you further so you can reach your full potential and fight me harder--”
He stopped mid-sentence and stepped closer, standing very near. His gaze locked onto Zanka’s eyes, refusing to let him look away.
“Wait… you want to know who I am?”Zanka began to sweat. He did not understand why he felt heat rising in his body simply from the stranger’s closeness. He wanted to push him away, his smile was provoking — but more importantly, he needed answers. Was this person his friend? Or his enemy? He had mentioned fighting, so perhaps he was an opponent.
All of it was confusing.
“Yes. Who are you?”
“Where is your stick?”
Jabber did not answer directly. Instead, he shifted the topic, stepping back from Zanka’s face and lying down on the bed.
Zanka had no idea what stick he was talking about.
“Can I get my answer, please?”
“Oh, about who I am…” Jabber stood again and faced him with confidence. He reached forward and brushed the hair away from Zanka’s forehead.
“I’m your boyfriend. How could you forget?”
Shock.
Zanka was completely stunned. There was a possibility that Jabber was lying, but at this moment he had no way to confirm anything. If this could somehow lead him to recover his memory, he had no choice but to consider it.
But seriously — if this was true, then he had dated a man?
And not just any man, but this one — with that unsettling smile. Was he attracted to this type of person?
“Don’t tell anyone I’m here. We were seeing each other secretly.”
Jabber lifted his hand from Zanka’s forehead and moved to the bed again, his behavior remained indifferent, which made Zanka think it might actually be true. Come to think of it, he could not remember whether he had dated anyone — male or female. But perhaps he had once preferred something intense… something chaotic.
He could think of this not from memory but
From instinct.
Zanka sat down on the bed, then he shifted closer to Jabber’s side of the bed and rested his hand on the sheet, accidentally touching Jabber’s hand.
Heat rushed to his face.His heart pounded rapidly.A shiver traveled down his spine at the contact with Jabber’s cold skin.
If what he said was true…. Then perhaps this was how lovers were supposed to feel.
Isn’t that what love meant?
“So… tell me about myself.”
Zanka forced the words out, suppressing the storm of questions raging inside him. If they were lovers, then Jabber should know something , anything , that could anchor him to who he used to be.
“Uh… well,” Jabber dragged the sound lazily, “you had a bad attitude,”Zanka stared at him in disbelief.
That was it? That was the summary of his existence?
He almost regretted asking. What kind of relationship was that?
“But we had good fights together.”
“You mean arguments?”
Jabber laughed under his breath. “No. We used to beat each other.”
“Huh.” That was all Zanka managed.
They were together — and they fought physically? He lifted his head from their lightly touching hands and looked at Jabber properly. The man was grinning like he was replaying fond memories of bruises and broken bones.
He’s insane.And yet… something about it didn’t feel completely foreign.
“Look,” Jabber raised his hand. Metallic claws extended from the rings on his fingers with a sharp click. “I poisoned you with these claws.” He tilted his head slightly; his locs shifted with the motion.
Zanka barely reacted. After everything that had happened today, retractable claws felt almost ordinary.
“Was I strong?” Zanka asked quietly.
If they fought often, then maybe strength was something he could hold onto.
Jabber’s grin didn’t fade when Zanka asked. If anything, it deepened — slower this time, deliberate. He leaned back slightly, as if settling into a memory he enjoyed too much.
“I used to win,” he said at last.“But don’t get it twisted,” he added, voice lowering. “You never made it easy.”
“Broke my ribs once.” Jabber grin sharpened, teeth flashing. Instead of resentment, something darker flickered behind his expression — something close to hunger.
“Best fight we ever had.”
The air between them felt heavier after that. Not tense exactly. Just charged. Like something unfinished was waiting to happen again.
Zanka suddenly grabbed Jabber’s hands where they rested on the sheets. It was impulsive, almost reckless.
“Look at me,” he demanded. “Were we really boyfriends?”
Jabber turned his head toward him slowly, unbothered, that same unshakable smile stretching across his face. It sent a ripple of goosebumps through Zanka’s skin.
Why was he the only one affected?
“Yeah,” Jabber replied calmly. “Want me to remind you with a kiss?”He leaned closer.
Zanka stepped back immediately. “No. You could be lying. Let me remember first.”
His heart hammered violently against his ribs. The offer shouldn’t feel dangerous — if they were truly together — yet everything about this dynamic felt unstable.
“Okay,” Jabber drawled, dropping back onto the bed with casual indifference.
But this time he was quietly laughing to himself.
Was he mocking him? Zanka covered his face, heat flooding his cheeks. He was being toyed with. He needed to pull himself together Jabber could be even lying about all this madness.
“I came here to remind you who you are.”
Jabber stood and stepped directly in front of him, his shadow swallowing Zanka’s face.
“Beat me.”
Zanka looked up at him.
He must be joking.
He wasn’t.
The playfulness in Jabber’s expression faded. His gaze sharpened this time.
“I’m not going to—”Jabber grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet before he could finish.
For a second, Zanka hesitated. But maybe this was the key. Maybe violence would unlock something.
“Where’s that damn stick?” Jabber muttered, scanning the room. “Forget it. Just hit me.” He tapped his own cheek lightly, smiling again — almost excited.
Zanka felt irritation spike through him. That smile. That challenge.
He lunged.
They hit the ground hard, Zanka pinning Jabber beneath him. His fist tightened, every unanswered question, every frustration, condensing into that single motion.
He struck.
The impact was solid, Heavy,
Blood spilled instantly from Jabber’s lip, streaking down his cheek.
Zanka stared at his own hand in shock.
He hadn’t known he could hit that hard.
Jabber, meanwhile, was smiling through the blood.
“Damn,” he breathed, eyes bright. “That’s what I’m talking about. Again.” There was no fear in him. No anger.
Only thrill.
And that’s when Zanka understood.
Pain wasn’t punishment for him.
It was reward.
Zanka pushed himself up, stepping away. Jabber exhaled sharply — almost disappointed.
He offered his hand to help him up. Jabber accepted without hesitation.
Up close, the blood looked worse than it had from above. Zanka reached out instinctively, touching his face carefully.
It wasn’t deep enough for stitches.
But it would scar.
“I’m sorry,” Zanka muttered.
“Don’t be,” Jabber replied, catching his wrist and pulling his hand away. “I asked for it.” Then, without breaking eye contact, he dragged his tongue slowly across the blood near his lip,licking the blood in a slow, unapologetic motion — not to clean it, but to savor it. There was something disturbingly calm about it, almost intimate, like he was tasting something sweet, he was that crazy. Zanka’s breath caught.
His entire body felt like it was overheating.The room suddenly felt smaller. Thicker. Harder to breathe in.
Why did this affect him so much? He was wondering…..
A noise echoed from outside. Jabber flinched slightly, “Cthoni’s not coming. Guess I’ll leave.”He moved toward the window without hesitation, he climbed onto the sill in one fluid motion. The fading evening light cut across his silhouette as he lifted himself effortlessly outside.
Zanka stood frozen.But something inside him refused to let him stay silent.
“Come tomorrow too.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.Jabber paused halfway out the window. He turned his head, that familiar grin flashing in the dim light.
“I will.”
Then he disappeared.
The room felt emptier than it had that morning.Worse, somehow.
Zanka stared at the window, the silence pressed heavily against him. The emptiness felt physical — like something had been removed from his chest.
He turned toward the door just as Enjin entered, holding a plate of food, smiling warmly.
Enjin stayed with him that night. They ate together. He cracked ridiculous jokes that made Zanka laugh despite himself. Even without memory, he could tell Enjin was genuine.He explained to him that he was a Cleaner — someone who fought trash beasts using vital instruments …
Zanka didn’t fully understand it, but he listened.
That was when he learned about the “stick.”
It wasn’t just a stick.
It was called lovely Assistaff — and he had named it himself.
Even after all that conversation, the most vivid part of his day remained something else entirely.
When Enjin left, and the infirmary grew quiet again, Zanka lay back against the pillow.
He closed his eyes.
He wanted sleep to come quickly.
He wanted to see him again.
His so-called boyfriend.
That strange, violent, exhilarating dynamic.
It was chaotic, unstable, but undeniably magnetic.
In the spiral of his thoughts before sleep, Jabber’s face kept coming back to him.
He was handsome — unfairly so. At least his past self had decent taste in something. Even with that metallic scent clinging to him, sharp and chemical, something almost dangerous, the charm was still there. It hadn’t faded. If anything, it made him harder to ignore.
Zanka liked his hair the most. The way it moved with him, almost alive, like an extension of his mood. It shifted when he tilted his head, swayed when he leaned closer, it was cute..
Eventually, exhaustion pulled him under.
He let himself sink into sleep, hoping that tomorrow would bring clarity — that the fog in his mind would lift, and all this mystery would finally start to make sense.
_________________
The next day,
The sun forced its way through the windows, washing the walls in muted orange. Light crept across Zanka’s face, slow and intrusive, his brows knitted together. He regretted leaving the window open and not bothering to draw the curtains.
He rubbed his eyes. His head was pounding, heavy, as if something was pressing down from the inside. He couldn’t even open them properly without pausing, breathing through the ache, waiting for it to settle.
He pushed himself upright and finally forced his eyes open, stretching stiffly.
“I feel like shit.”
His gaze drifted around the room,The infirmary….
What happened?
He pressed his palm to his temple, trying to steady the throbbing.
“Where is everyone…”
Then — a flash.
Fragments.
He grabbed his head with both hands, shutting his eyes tight, struggling to line the memories up.
He was with the Cleaners.
Inside a Trash Beast.
Fighting—
Jabber.
Yes. Jabber.Out of all the Raiders, it had to be him.He poisoned him.He remembered collapsing , the ground tilting, vision warping, hallucinating like a madman.
Yes.
He remembered everything.
He shoved the blanket aside and let his legs drop to the cold tile floor.
“Zanka.”
Enjin’s voice cut through the room as he entered. Zanka hadn’t even heard the door handle move. He turned toward him.
“Enjin… is everyone alright?”
Enjin lit up. “So you remember?” He nearly stumbled over his own feet rushing toward him.
“Remember what?”
“Man, you lost your memory , we were so worried. You didn’t recognize any of us yesterday, You should’ve seen yourself — you were so confused.”
Zanka blinked. “Really?” And suddenly, he couldn’t remember that part.He remembered the poison. The fight. The collapse.But nothing after.
“I’ll call everyone. Rudo’s been dying to see you,” Enjin said, clapping a hand against Zanka’s shoulder before hurrying out, leaving the door wide open as he shouted for the others.
Silence settled again, Zanka stared down at the floor beneath the bed.
Out of everyone, he was the one lying in a hospital bed.What did that say about him?
Was he still lacking?Could someone born mediocre ever stand against natural talent? Would he ever prove to Enjin that effort could surpass talent?
That anger burned inside him — but it wasn’t the only thing.Beneath it, deeper, quieter… was something worse.
An emptiness.
It felt like someone had taken a part of him, and he was waiting for someone to return it back.
Waiting for someone.
That was it.
But waiting for who… was the part that unsettled him the most.
He made a mental note to ask Enjin what exactly happened during that missing time. Something about it felt incomplete. A detail out of place. A gap that shouldn’t exist.
The sound of the Cleaners approaching the door pulled him from his thoughts.
Maybe he was overthinking.
Maybe.
.