Chapter Text
October 8th 20XX
The sky was painted a soft shade of green split into shards of sea glass by the broken window pane. It had been that way for years. Or at least since Zanka had made his home here. There was duct tape over the worst of it but there was nothing substantial to fix the cracks. What a metaphor for his shitty life huh?
He groaned, finally rolling off the bed covers, slipping off and onto the cold floor that creaked quietly at even the gentlest touch. Feet padded across the floor until the street was fully seen through the window. Shambling overgrown corpses of what were once people stood in place,what used to be their faces staring up at the sun in a mockery of prayer. Or what Zanka assumed to be prayer, neither of his families had been religious.
Kyouka was right, it had never really changed a thing regardless.
The curtains slid closed blocking the street from view as he moved to the kitchen and lit up the storm lantern illuminating the apartment. Rifling through the cooler he pulled out a few vegetables, only slightly wilted. Cooking brought a bit of normalcy even if it was done with a camping stove he had stolen from a department store. Roasted vegetables for one, only one. Making extra portions to conjure a sense of normalcy was useless. He still did it some days though, out of habit. As if Rudo might suddenly come out of the other room to ask him for extra portions.
After eating he left the apartment and ventured into the stairwell. The other apartments on the floor went unused, seeing that Zanka was organized and barely had anything to begin with. Also the fact nobody else was alive to use them. He passed the destroyed stairs down as he began to ascend up. It was a precaution really, he was already 6 stories up and the overgrown corpses had a hard time navigating up one.
The roof of the apartment was arranged in careful rows of planters each containing the food that kept Zanka alive. A curious effect of this plant-like apocalypse was the accelerated growth of normal plants. It made for plenty of food, if you were willing to weed the garden everyday. Not like there was not much else to do all day anyway. Raiding buildings was pretty useless, at least in his opinion, once he had all the necessary survival supplies there was no use risking being caught out at night when the docile hoards became animalistic mobs.
The corpses, “zombies” per se, were nothing more than glorified statues during the day gazing at the sun constantly, occasionally moving to stay in the light. All things considered they were docile when in the sun. Until of course the flowers that grew on them were harmed, just one flower on one undead was all it took to have a frenzied hoard tear you apart. When the sun was gone it was a different story, they became enraged, every single bit of evidence of life they would destroy. During winter there was simply no chance of leaving the building at all.
All of this to say that Zanka was perfectly content to stay up in his safe apartment, with enough food to last him years and enough books to read for the entire winter. The rope ladder in the elevator shaft would stay safely secured and folded up until spring.
That was until he noticed a man, long locs framing his face, and a bloodied hospital gown simply walking through the hoards of undead without a care in the world. That was the beginning of the end for Zanka Nijiku.
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Splintered glass cracked and burst open in a flood of liquid as a body fell to the ground. Violet eyes peaked open as bloodied hands fisted into the foxglove bursting out of cracks in the ground mixed with shards of glass. Locs slowly fell across his face as his eyes scanned the destroyed laboratory around him. Machines lost to time and other large tubes like the one he had been in, broken open and long abandoned.
“Who…?” His voice came out hoarse as he stood up bracing himself against the cold metal. It echoed against what was left of the walls escaping through where the roof had caved in.
The place was for all intents and purposes thoroughly destroyed, as if a tornado had gone through messing up everything in its path. Though what did catch his attention was a white board, sitting limply to the side due to the absence of one of the supports. Various doodles adorned its surface; the marker faded with age yet still vibrant against the muddled walls.
His hand slowly traced the draw figures. One had a short bob and an angry scowl drawn in blue. Another had short hair and an intimidating expression drawn in black. One with choppy hair and an anxious expression illustrated in red. Another with a sleepy expression in purple. Finally there was one that seemed to be himself given life in goofy pink marker strokes.
There were arrows pointing to the small figures each with names attached. Cthoni, Zodyl, Fu, Momoa and Jabber. Jabber.. so that was his name. He could see what seemed to hand writing off to the side, ‘Sick work Fu my man!’ Followed by a smiley face. Looking at those tiny faces and the echoes of conversation made his chest ache in a way he understood yet couldn't at the same time. Those echoes were traced all across the white board in various colors.
His gaze shifted past shattered glasses and broken equipment before landing on a small journal set carefully on a table, pristine in contrast with the chaos around it. It was weathered from the elements allowed in from the hole in the roof yet the ink on the pages was still intact on the yellowing pages.
‘Jabber, I apologize greatly for not being there to greet you. We have observed the serum to cause memory loss in specimens so I doubt your ability to remember exactly the situation nor your place in it. Or even us for that matter.’
He felt a tiny pain in his chest, something akin to loss that felt foreign to him. It was strange and unnatural. Jabber bit the inside of his cheek before continuing.
‘At this very moment we have likely been reduced to walking corpses like the rest of the population. Cthoni told me to save myself, she has always been pragmatic like that. I could not do such a thing though. Maybe that is a weakness on my regard. I simply don't think I could handle a loss like that again. So I gave it to you, Jabber. I have never been good at emotions or anything of that regard but know that the only thing of your past that matters is that you were loved. Anything else would only weigh on your mind and hold you back. Do not mourn us, Zodyl Typhon.’
Jabber stared down at the words printed onto the page in handwriting so pristine it looked typed onto the page. He wanted to cry, it felt appropriate but nothing came. The message was not meant for him, it was meant for the Jabber who died when the infection entered his veins. He closed the aging book, laying it to rest where it had sat before.
The hallways were filled with climbing ivy and broken walls where plants had grown through the floor uprooting the building from its foundation. Lilies and carnations bloomed up from the broken ground in shades of mourning white like clouds against a sky of grass. There was a figure standing in the hallway facing the light, face half decayed and covered in blooming violets. Cthoni. Or something that used to be her now reduced to an overgrown statuette.
Continuing through the broken halls he passed vague vessels with faces he almost recognized. Like a picture blurred and dulled from age. Though as he left the lab and into the destroyed landscape left to ruin he couldn't help but wonder why there were only three corpses and not four.
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Blue eyes gazed through the cracked scope of a crossbow as a man wandered through the hoards crowding the street. Usually Assistaff was his first choice of weapon (especially considering she worked wonders with moving the undead out of the way) but considering he was on top of a building most of the time he had other options.
The man looked undisturbed by the monsters as if they were nothing but a nuisance as opposed to the murderous mob they could become at the slightest provocation. Zanka almost dropped the crossbow as pink eyes locked on his own. Very alive pink eyes that wanted to eat him hole, bones and all. A shiver went down his spine as that impassive stare shifted into a giddy grin and then disappeared into the crowd entirely. He knew he was screwed right then and there.
Of course of all survivors to find it had to be one of the freaks. His finger had been right over the trigger but he hadn’t shot. Maybe it was because he yearned for some sort contact with someone anything that was not the silence he had grown so used to.
The rest of the afternoon was spent on edge expecting something to burst from one of the empty rooms on the floor. Hallways cleaned of the blood they had once were now bathed in a terrifying shadow once again. Zanka kept his cross-bow close by, it would be more effective against a crazed lunatic jumping from the shadows.
He wondered why he was so on edge to begin with. It would take considerable effort to get up to the top floor of the building, past the broken stairs, past the various pitfalls where the floor had been weakened from the weight of vines. His calloused hand ran over his face willing away the pulsing ache clouding his thoughts making it harder to think of anything but laying down.
The bugs sang outside, a symphony of buzzing cicadas and chirping crickets returned to the home they had been forced out of. It masked the click of a lock popping open in the hall and footsteps walking down the hall towards the apartment.
The hair on the back of his neck raised. It was silent, completely silent. Terror cold and sharp tore through the haze of throbbing pain.
“You left the fire escape up.” A cold voice purred tauntingly from the shadow of the doorway behind Zanka.
This time he did not hesitate. A crossbow bolt flew out embedding between the pink eyes eliciting a whine of pain. Blood splattered against Zanka’s face, staining his face, clothes, and the floor it dripped onto. His breathing was heavy as he wiped the blood from his face careful to not let it enter his mouth.
The bow lowered slowly allowing view of the body that should have been there but was absent. Cold metal kissed his throat, claws wrapping around the warm intimate in it's pressure just gentle enough to avoid drawing blood. It was a threat, clear in it's effectiveness.
In the reflection of the window he could make out pink eyes boring into his own shadow covering most features except for the aconite and heliotrope adorning where the blood should have continued to leak out.
“Yer infected..” The awed mumble escaped Zanka before he could stop himself.
“Eh? I don’ care ‘bout all that zombie stuff. I'm more interested in you and that lil bow of yours,” The thumb claw gently ran over the center of his neck down to his clavicle. “I've been really itchin for a good fight but everybody is all boring pushovers.”
The claw pushed down drawing a bead of blood from the center of Zanka’s neck. A red rivulet that fell down onto his shirt. “Except for you and that nasty attitude’a yours.”
“Ya think anybody wouldn't shoot a bastard breaking into their house like you.” Zanka hissed, reaching up to pull the claw away only to be stopped as it pressed down harder.
“Nobody smiles like you do.” A breath against his ear as the claw dragged down in a thin cut that leaked blood.
The clawed hand pulled away as Zanka turned his head to watch the man's tongue peak out to lick the blood off of the metal.
“Don't do that ya freak.” Zanka growled, grabbing Assistaff from her perch against the wall ready to use. That was when his eyes began to feel heavy, his head fuzzy clouded by static.
He met the floor with a rough fall, limbs crumbling like paper. His vision swam as he looked up at the person who had moved to crouch in front of him.
“Ain't that a fun one, huh? Gonna have a real fun trip my man.” The mocking laugh was the last thing he heard before all senses were lost to the invading buzz. Like cicadas.
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There was a soft humming around the apartment along with the dragging of a body. Jabber hummed as he dragged the twitching body along behind him before lifting him up to place on the bed.
“Damn you heavy. Maybe I just needa work out more.” He mumbled to himself looking around the apartment curiously.
Finding a survivor had been a miracle, even more so one who was fully willing to just pull the trigger on his head. He had been prepared to resort to cannibalism to fill the gnawing hunger in his stomach that the sun only soothed while it was up. Yet this survivor was far too interesting for that fate. He also had food. Lots of it.
He rifled through the fridge finding some leftover soup which was warmed over the little burner nestled on the counter. It was bland and otherwise unappealing but it filled his stomach and that was good enough for the moment.
The poison on his claws was something he had fashioned from the random bugs and flowers on his travels. They had always been so far out of reach in the industrial areas he frequented but now they were everywhere sprouting up just like the weeds. It almost made him want to collect all of them just to test out all the poisons, like a little poison museum. He tapped a metal claw against his lip as he mused, feeling the metal sink in just enough to prick yet not enough to draw blood.
Moving to the bathroom he carefully inspected the arrow still stuck in his head and the flowers blooming from it caked in blood. It explained why the corpses never bothered him despite their willingness to tear apart anything living at night. Also explained why he had woken up in a lab connected to a bunch of tubes.
The arrow was easily torn out of his skull with a wet slick sound and a flash of pain that made him bite into his lip. Then it healed over, as if nothing had even happened, not even the flowers remained after he pulled them out by the roots. Jabber stifled a laugh as he reached up to feel the repaired skin with only a bloodstain to mark its previous injury. There was a roll of bandages on the counter which he wrapped around the area, like a mockery of the injury.
Wandering through the apartment he noticed just how well lived in it was, it made sense considering it could have been years since the outbreak for all he knew. Rifling through the bookshelf he found what looked to be a scrapbook, opening it confirmed that. He skipped past a few pages filled with people he didn't care to know, if they weren't here they were probably dead.
He continued flipping through pages until eventually his finger traced over the same face that had just shot him. ‘Zanka's graduation! December 20XX’ Was written under the photo in faded ink, the image of Zanka’s smiling face adorned in a graduation gown and cap burned into the back of his brain. It was a pretty smile, not as pretty as the one that had painted his face as he watched Jabber bleed onto the tile floor. A repressed sadist.
“Zan-ka… Zanka..” Jabber mumbled drawing out each perfect syllable with a purr. It was vaguely familiar how it rolled across his lips like it belonged there.
The book closed with a puff of dust before it was slotted back into place on the bookshelf. There was a soft creak of floorboards behind him, Jabber’s eyes shifted behind him to Zanka using his staff to stand. His glare was cold and leveled at Jabber’s head.
“Makin’ yourself at home? I ain't exactly taking in strays, especially not ones that bite.” Zanka snapped, keeping his distance from Jabber as if that would do anything to keep himself safe when his legs were too weak to carry his own weight.
If he wanted to, Jabber could easily cut him, poison him again and eat him. But that would be too easy and Zanka was far too interesting, and he preferred a struggle anyway.
“Zan-Zan, you wound me. You would really kick out someone you injured?” He pouted sitting on the top of the couch. He was still in the bloodied hospital gown he had woken up in. Clothing had not been a top priority for him, namely because everyone seemed dead.
“Ya broke into my apartment?!” Zanka's exasperated yell echoed through the room as Jabber rolled his eyes. “I was defending myself from a lunatic- How do you even know my name?”
“I probably have a concussion thanks to you. Maybe the headache’s just from your bad attitude though.” He flopped down onto the couch getting dried blood on the fabric much to Zanka’s dismay.
A shirt was thrown at Jabber along with a pair of sweatpants. “That doesn't answer my question and put some clothes on.”
“You're soooo boringgg.” Jabber groaned, beginning to pull off the bloodied gown exposing a scarred chest. Along with a small aconite bloom that refused to be pulled out like the others. “Fine, I looked through one of ya lil’ books. The one with all the mushy pictures in it.”
Zanka looked away, face flushed as he realized Jabber was wearing absolutely nothing under the hospital garb. The man in question only snickered before throwing the bloodied clothing at Zanka, laughing even louder when he flinched back and toppled over.
“What? You ‘fraid of a little blood n’ gore?” Jabber smirked now wearing the old band t-shirt and sweats. It was a size too big, which Jabber much preferred over any skin-tight shit.
“I'm not afraid of yer blood, just gotta be careful. I ain't immune like you or whatever ya are-” Zanka hesitated before speaking as he stood back up then folded the bloodied garment up. “One drop of this in my system and its curtains.”
The air in the room changed to a more somber feeling as Jabber’s snickering subsided. The other talked like it was some sort of blessing to be full of poison from the inside out. He had wanted to kill Zanka to eat him like some animal, yes he had been violent before but this felt so starkly animalistic to his usual itch for a fight.
“I can wash it.” He suddenly spoke looking over at Zanka expectantly as he held out his hands.
“Ya don't gotta do that. I'm perfectly capable of not infecting myself with a bit a’ blood.” Zanka held up the clothes as Jabber grabbed for it trying not to embarrassingly fall over again.
Jabber's eyes narrowed in challenge before he grappled with Zanka trying to grab the clothing leading them both to topple over. He grinned victoriously as he stood up with the fabric tucked under his arm. It hadn't been much of a fight, the snake venom he had grabbed was pretty vicious like that made you all weak and uncoordinated for a few hours after.
He would know considering he had let the snake bite him on a whim only to end up limping around for a day.
“Do ya even know where the bathroom is-?” Zanka raised an eyebrow before eyeing Jabber’s grin, answering his question before he even finished it.
“Fine, make yerself at home I guess. Just stop touchin’ my shit. ‘Kay?” He used Assistaff to help him to his feet again watching as Jabber ignored him in favor of sauntering to the bathroom.
“Nah I'll just wait till you're sleeping to do it.”
“You-!”
“Name's Jabber by the way roomie.” He turned to smirk at Zanka before closing and locking the bathroom door.
“We're not roommates! You broke into my house!” Zanka huffed as he heard the sound of water turning on and things shuffling around.
“Rooomatess~” Jabber’s singsong voice echoed mockingly through the bathroom door.
Zanka sighed, sinking onto the couch listening to the sound of Jabber’s discordant humming. It was strange to hear another person moving about in the usually silent apartment. Comforting even if the noises belonged to a lunatic who broke into his house and poisoned him.
Even then that lunatic still patched up the cut on his neck along with the ones Zanka had let fester.
That was enough for him.