Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Morning broke like it always did in the Cleaners sector—gray and somber. Faint hissing of pipes through the cracked concrete walls, footsteps you could only slightly make out. Zanka stirred on his bunk when Enjin’s fist banged against the metal door.

“Wakey-wakey, Zan-Zan” Enjin’s voice came, calling out in a singsong tone.

Zanka groaned only slightly and dragged a hand down his face. His hair was a wild mess—the blonde and black and tangled from sleep—and the back of his neck still ached from some training the night before. He wanted to call out five more minutes, but chose against it, not wanting to cause even a hint of disappointment with his mentor.

“Come to the meeting room in 5, ‘kay?”

The voice was gone before he could argue.

He sat up slowly, his joints popping. For a fighter, mornings were always the hardest—his muscles remembered every fight before his mind did. The air tasted faintly of engine oil and bitter coffee. He grabbed a small blanket from the chair and shrugged it on, heading out into the dim hallway.

The meeting room sat at the end of the corridor, lit by a flickering overhead lamp. When Zanka stepped in, he noticed most of his team were already there. Enjin, Gris, and Follo by the projector, it sounded like they were chatting, but you could tell it was Enjin doing most of the talking. Rudo leaned back in a nearby chair, Semiu polishing the lenses of her glasses, and Riyo with her arms crossed, resting her shoulder on the wall.

Enjin looked up, eyes tired but focused. “There he is! Now we can start”

Zanka dropped into a chair beside Rudo, both of them stifling a yawn.

“It’s so early… couldn’t this wait?” Rudo mumbled, eyes blinking slowly while he started to doze off.

Enjin walked to Semiu’s desk, slamming one hand down and startling everyone awake. Semiu glared at Enjin, with Enjin choosing to nervously glance the other way in response. Though, it did seem to do the trick of getting everyone’s attention, so she cleared her throat and began talking.

“Well,” Semiu started “We finally have a lead for a Watchman weapon’s location. The person who knows its whereabouts is actually hosting an underground fighting event tonight”

Riyo whistled low. “Sounds exciting, are we all VIPs or something?”

“Not exactly,” Semiu tried to keep her smirk down as she continued explaining, “The event’s female-only. Fighters only. No weapons. Bare fists.”

Zanka frowned, “That’s… oddly specific”

Semiu cut in at this, “The host says they don't trust Givers, and they only want “fair fights”. Their team is made for extensive research, so anyone with a record—Raiders, Cleaners, even Hell Guards—isn’t allowed in the arena”

“So, basically everyone that’s worth watching..” Rudo muttered. “What’s the point of a fight if no one can throw a real punch?”

Semiu adjusted her glasses, light catching the lenses. “Because they’re into traditional ways, and they deem those fights boring. They want feral human strength, but that’s besides the point. The point is we got a tip saying that the Watchman’s currently being shipped, and the host knows to where. If someone can get close enough to the host, they might find where it’s going to be held.”

Enjin nodded. “Exactly, so we need someone inside the ring. Someone who can win the event and get close to them.”

The room went silent as they looked at one another.

Zanka was a bit thankful for the hush, all this information being piled onto his brain after waking up wasn’t doing him any good, so he let himself lean back and rest his eyes for a bit. He tried thinking to himself about what he could do to help, but only drew blanks. Of course, he still didn’t mind. Thinking about an underground arena grossed him out, and the last thing he wanted was another mission that would lead to getting germs and sweat all over his clothes, for scraps of intel none-the-less.

Rudo decided to break the quiet first, “What about disguises? Someone could definitely dress up like a girl!” It was obvious that what he said meant to be a joke, because even if he wasn’t smiling, his tone was dripping in sarcasm.

The others chuckled, Zanka even smiled.

But Enjin took a pause, crossing his arms. “Actually, that’s not the worst idea.”

There was a stunned silence. Then the girls burst out in giggles while the boys widened their eyes to look at him.

Rudo stared at him, “What—wait—really?!”

“Dead serious,” Enjin shared a devious look with Semiu, “Can you use your lenses to scan for who could pass the easiest?”

Semiu rolled her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching. “You really need my glasses for that?” she said lightly. “I think it’s pretty obvious”, she added on, while her gaze slowly slid over to Zanka.

Zanka stiffened “What? N–.. Why me?!”

“C’mon, most of us here mistook you as a woman when we first saw you,” Semiu remarked quietly.

“What she meant was, Zanka, you are the most refined in hand-to-hand combat out of all of us here,” Enjin added, evidently showing his knowledge of how to get Zanka’s sweet spots, as Zanka could only leave his mouth hanging open, not wanting to refute Enjin. “You can hold your own in close combat. And with some some disguise work,”

“Wha?! C’mon now, ya’ really tellin’ me I’m gonna have ta’ wear a silly costume—“

But suddenly, at the word costume, there were huge thumps echoing down the hallway and that got louder by the second, as if whatever was causing the sound was getting rapidly closer.

“Did..” It started faint, “I..” it was much closer this time, “Hear..” The Cleaners readied their weapons as they turned to face the door. “COSTUUMES?!” August burst through the door, flailing his arms. One hand carried a bag and punched the air, while the other pointed at Zanka. August’s eyes carried gleeful malice as he hollered into the air. “I didn’t think we’d be using this outfit this soon, but who am I to complain?!”

Zanka was shocked for a second, but quickly regained his posture and started backing up, “Don’t you dare—”

“Too late!” August grabbed his wrist before he could retreat. “Come on, pretty boy! For the mission!”

The rest of the team watched as Zanka was dragged out and into the hallway, Zanka latching onto the door, clawing at the ground, and calling out for help in desperate attempts. Rudo and Enjin ended up laughing so hard that they started rolling on the floor together, Riyo’s knees buckled as she clamped a hand over her mouth, trying her hardest to hold back her laughter, Semiu smiling faintly while shaking her head, and the supporters just staring disappointedly at the scene unfolding in front of them.

***

Half an hour later, the door creaked open again.

Everyone turned their head, staring at what would walk through the door in a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

August strolled in first, his hands on his hips, looking as proud as an artist presenting his masterpiece. And behind him stepped in a Zanka—or was it? They knew they were expecting Zanka to be dressed up a little differently, but there was no way this was her– or him– or whatever!

His hair had been the same blonde with hints of black, but this time it split into a messy-side-part-blowout, a few loose strands brushing his cheekbones and laying on top of his nose. His skin glowed faintly under the light; it seemed like August had dusted his face with some makeup that softened the already feminine features of his face, highlighted his long eyelashes, and added an even more rosy tint to his cheeks and lips. The outfit was just Zanka’s classic one he regularly wore, except it was off shoulder and much more fitted. Really pronouncing his curves, and especially his waist. It somehow turned his slim frame into something more feminine than it already was, and even if they were doubting the disguise because of how similar it looked to Zanka’s normal outfit, the face and hair made up for it. They also wouldn’t dare to question August’s ways, for this was more than enough.

Zanka moved stiffly, like every step betrayed him.

Rudo’s brow furrowed, “Zanka’s… sister?”

Semiu slapped a palm into her own face, “That is Zanka, Rudo.” she said, scoffing when Rudo went into shock.

Riyo bit her lip in a poor attempt to hide her shit-eating grin, “August, that’s terrifying”

“Thank you,” August said, smug, taking a photo with a polaroid and sticking it on a random place on the wall, “My work here is done.” And with that, he dusted his hands together, humming and walking off.

Zanka stood rigid, glaring angrily at the whole room and summoning His Lovely Assistaff. “Say one word,” he warned, “and I swear I’ll…”

“You look—” Semiu began.

“Don’t try me.” Zanka snapped with a menacing laugh.

Enjin finally declared something with a clap, “This is great! You’ll definitely pass inspection.”

Zanka groaned and de-summoned His Lovely Assistaff.

“Thanks, Zanka,” Enjin said calmly, “You’ll enter as ‘Kana,’ maybe.. a new fighter looking to debut! Your goal is to get close enough to the host, or, at least close enough to overhear and identify where the Watchman will be kept.” Enjin looked over Zanka’s gloomy state, “Don’t worry, I know you got this Zanka, you always manage to get through the most tedious of missions.”

Zanka couldn’t find it in himself to argue. A small part of him wanted to throw the wig, the makeup, and the stupid outfit in Enjin’s face. But a much bigger part of him didn’t want to look like a baby from prioritizing his ego, rather than the mission.

He took a deep breath in, “Okay,” he said finally, voice low. “But if I see any one of you take a single photo..”

Rudo snorted, “Too late”

Zanka smacked the back of his head with his staff.

Zanka sighed, tilting his head toward the reflection on the window. His reflection smiled faintly at him, painted lips and all, but the scary part was how he couldn’t tell if it was because he was embarrassed, or kind of proud.

***

Zanka had been dropped off to an extremely large, and rather basic looking dome made of grey bricks.

His team had wanted to enter the large dome with him, but if they had, it was said that they would have to hand their vital instruments over and be constantly followed by security, so it was clear they weren’t welcome. Eventually, they decided on letting Zanka know about how they’d stay at a neighboring civilization, around 6-7 minutes out.

He pulled his hood up and turned toward the door as he watched their car drive away. Sighing to himself as he got past the first layer of security.

Unexpectedly, there was a blinding amount of lights, so he ended up squinting as he walked inside the dome.

After finally adjusting his eyes, he looked around, not expecting much, but was extremely taken aback by the sight before him as the wind blew his hood back down.

It was a whole ‘nother city inside. The dome was much bigger than he had expected, and he wasn’t even able to make out the ceiling. He noticed how there were multiple streets everywhere, leading to different directions, and how each side of each street had a line of small vendors. The smell of food wafting in the air made him drool, and there were so many people that he could probably get lost and walk in endless circles if he didn’t pay enough attention. Everything was bright and vibrant, but there was something very clearly standing out compared to the overstimulation around him. There were bright arrows, paired with a large sign that read “FIGHT ON!”, which pointed to an area—he could probably guess that that area was where the event was going to be held.

He wanted to get familiar with his surroundings before blindly walking forward, so he decided to take a glance around–which is when he spotted a flyer that was stuck to a lamppost, quickly running over to it and reading what it said.

Apparently, he had around three hours before people could get access to the arena, so he thought about what to do with the plenty of free time he had on his hands—until his stomach grumbled. Hence, he knew the next thing we would be doing was going to grab a bite from whichever vendor that was creating that mouth watering scent.

Stuffing the flyer in his pocket, he trudged forward to the direction of the good smell, but while walking, he couldn’t help but wonder about the event. Particularly about how excited he was.

He hadn’t been able to get a good hand-to-hand fight in quite some time.

He was so ready.

Chapter Text

He ended up finding the stall he was initially smelling and grabbing some small finger foods that he could eat while wandering around. Wanting to see all the things he can with his limited amount of time here, because of how he’ll probably never be able to be in a place like this again.

Despite his feigned ignorance, he could feel people’s eyes drag over him. Not in recognition—but worse. In curiosity. He’d normally be smug about all the looks trailing over him, but for some reason, this scenario just made it just feel so much more vulnerable. The irony of it was almost laughable. How it was made to hide him, but made him stick out like a sore thumb instead. Every sway of his sleeves, every shine of light reflecting on that silky black hair of his—it made the unnecessary attention so much worse.

And while he wouldn't hate the looks, for some reason, he had felt more vulnerable than usual. For now, he just settled with pulling his hood down.

But he continued deeper into the market, finding it alive with shouts and neon haze. Vendors calling out prices, lights flickering over wet cobblestones, and the scent of oil and fried dough mingling in the air. Far above, the arena’s banner glowed in a shifting hologram: “The Queen’s Fist Tournament. No Weapons. No Mercy.”

With no watch or perception of time, it was hard to tell exactly when he had to get to the arena. He chose against it for now–as there was no way it's been more than two hours.

Nothing really caught his eye as he went onward–well, that was until he spotted a different food vendor, with bright advertisements about how his specialty food was “savory noodles with broth”. Zanka’s favorite. He beamed at the sight and made a bee-line to the stand, hovering over the menu on the counter with a bright smile. He signaled to the gentle looking old man that he’d like to order, and was about to point to a bowl on the menu, until–

He was turned around by a rough hand, forcing to look up and into a stranger’s eyes–

Except it wasn’t a stranger’s eyes.

It was eyes that belonged to a particular raider. An annoying raider who had long locs that he just wanted to run his hand through, a raider who was wearing a rather comfortable looking dark purple hoodie that fitted his body just right, and a raider who had deep colored magenta eyes that were staring right back at him.

There he was, stood Jabber. His tight grip disappeared from Zanka’s shoulder as he dragged it away, returning it back into his own pocket. Zanka could swear he saw a hint of confusion flicker in Jabber’s eyes as he scanned over Zanka’s face, but it quickly turned into more of his usual, calculating ones.

The sight was almost enough to make Zanka ruin the mission and start fighting by pure reflex. He hadn’t seen Jabber in weeks—since that botched raid that ended with the both of them nearly gutted.

And there he was. No disguise, no hesitation—just that cocky, unreadable grin and a casual stance that screamed trouble.

Zanka inadvertently ducked his head and avoided eye contact. His heart jumped into his throat.

What was Jabber doing here?!

He wasn’t in fighter’s gear, that much was obvious. He wore dark street clothes, low profile but unmistakably his. He doubts he’s been hired as a guard, and it does seem like he would be the one to regularly enjoy these kinds of events.. That crazy masochist—but he wouldn’t attend these kinds of events.. right?... No. No need to think about that now.

It seemed like he was studying him by how much he was staring eyes glossing over his body. Once – twice – thrice, now?! Is this some weird tactic to try and throw Zanka off? Has he been caught already? He couldn’t let him get the upper hand. He needed to focus.

It couldn’t matter if Jabber was looming over him, shamelessly sizing Zanka up, alarmingly close in proximity. Even if they both held their breath, for what they realistically knew was a second, but felt ridiculously slow. Even if Zanka was red-hot in embarrassment, because being caught in a ridiculous outfit like this was one thing. But did it really have to be Jabber, of all people, that ran into him?

Zanka tried to force himself and act confused, trying to avert his gaze for as long as possible. Maybe this was just a mistake, maybe he really hadn’t noticed. Maybe he’d—

“Hey.”

Too late.

This was dangerous. Very dangerous.

He turned slowly, trying to rearrange his expression into something harmless. Jabber had stepped closer, leaning just enough to have him pinned without touching him. His gaze swept across, watching the way Zanka’s hair subtly flowed, to the gloves on his hands, pausing like he was trying to place something.

“You look familiar,” Jabber said, tilting his head. “You got a brother or something?”

Zanka’s throat went dry. He forced his voice into something softer, quieter. “No.”

Jabber studied him for another second. Then a slow smirk curved his mouth, cogs turning in his head. “Weird. You look exactly like a pretty-boy I know. He’s got the same eyes—sharp. One that shows you just how much he wants you dead, even if he doesn’t say it.”

Zanka’s fingers twitched as his mind spiraled, specifically at the word pretty boy. Gulping before replying with “Do I.”

“Yeah.” Jabber leaned in closer, the smirk becoming something of a halfway between a taunt and a tease. “That guy? He really knows how to push me the right way… he’d probably beat my ass for talking about him like this. Too bad, though. Cause he isn’t here, right?”

Zanka blinked, stunned. Caught in between wanting to laugh or wanting to punch him square in his face. He chose neither. “You’ve got a strange way of talking to strangers.” He breathed out, still unsure of how to speak in this situation.

“Only to the interesting ones,” Jabber said, stepping aside so she—he—could pass. His eyes lingered, bright with challenge. “Hope to see you in the ring, maybe.”

Zanka knew he should use this moment to flee, but he could barely move, stuck in place, heart pounding. Only upon hearing Jabber’s snicker, he remembered where he was and slipped past, making sure to not show his face to Jabber for any longer. He slowly started to hear the sound of the crowd rushing back in, as if to fill the space Jabber left behind. Which helped to calm him down a bit.

He couldn’t let himself look back, but he could feel the smirk following him. Zanka pressed a hand over his chest, exhaling hard as he kept walking farther. He wasn’t even sure where he was going, just—anywhere would do at this point, he needed to get somewhere, anywhere that was farther from that wild boy.

He’d survived countless missions. He’d walked through gunfire, traded blows with beasts ten-times his size. But this—those interactions with Jabber—was its own kind of battle.

And it should’ve beeeb obvious, but a little voice in the back of his mind leads to doubts. Doubts on who’d really won that round.

***

Inside the venue, noise slams into him like a wave of heat. The crowd was electric—traders, mercs, rich spectators wrapped in synthetic fur and mirrored visors. The weird thing was, he hadn’t been able to spot the fighting cage anywhere. Until he looked up. He squinted at the blinding lights, but when his eyes finally adjusted, he could see the platform raised into the sky, pulsing with pale light. It seemed like there were two referees, both dressed in black and white clothes, but not minimalist in the slightest. Both of their hair were put in crazy hairstyles, and their clothes seemed to be both blocky and flowing at the same time.

Zanka then managed to somehow spot the registration desk buried in the crowd of people, and went to go check in. Unsure of how to handle his disguise properly, he decided to simply try and keep his voice even and low.

“Name?” the clerk asked without looking up.

“Kana,” he said.

The clerk’s stylus paused mid-tap. “First time competing?” She then looked up at him with intrigued eyes at the new voice.

Zanka nodded, a bit taken aback at her reaction.

“...You look confident for a first-timer.” The woman smirked but stamped his entry pass anyway, picked it up with her index and middle finger, and waved it across his face. “Locker room’s left wing. Matches start in an hour.”

He gave a curt smile. “Got it.”

***

The locker room smelled of sweat and perfume. Fighters sized each other up through the mirrors, some taping wrists, others whispering quiet threats. Zanka found a corner bench and pretended to check his gloves while listening to the chatter.

Fighters stretched, laughed, and cracked their knuckles; they were all women, all in combat gear that looked designed for spectacle as much as function.

He heard a certain name come up often—often paired with “Yeah, they really stepped up their game with this year's event compared to the last.” So he assumed this was the person he was looking for. He heard that the host had a VIP booth above the cage—saving the room for whichever fighter ended up climbing to the top. He also heard that the host was doing this out of family tradition; it was not as nearly extravagant before, as it is now, but their family was self made. That part was admirable.

But frankly, Zanka didn’t quite care. He had heard all he needed to know, which was “winning will give you the best chance for intel”. So with a clear goal, he now knew he just needed confirmation of the Watchman coordinates, and he’d be done. Out of this unrespectable, dingy boxing ring.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the knot in his stomach. The wig itched. The makeup felt like armor he didn’t trust. He clenched his fists once, twice.

Then a voice broke through the noise.

“Look at that one. Pretty thing. Bet she won’t last a round. Unless she’s a natural, or something.”

..Did he say something about leaving as fast as possible?

Never mind.

He could handle some grime, if it meant proving those “naturals” wrong.

Chapter Text

Zanka was now spending his time observing some of the other competitors, trying to conjure some strategies of his own. He had taken the time to wrap his wrists in preparation, and was watching the other competitors fight against one another from the screen filming them live in the preparation room with a calculative look on his face. From this, he had spotted most of their weak spots, the screen proving itself effective.

He had anger boiling inside of him ever since that comment about his skills. How they were assuming that he had to be a natural in order to be good, how he couldn’t survive if not gifted. But this was a chance to show precisely how hard he had originally worked.

Zanka heard his name get called, head quickly turning to face where it was coming from in response. The person approaching explained how it would be her turn to go now, pointing to the screen which panned to an announcer. The announcer declared that Kana would be joining the ring, in a loud and enthusiastic voice. Emphasizing on how Kana was a newcomer, how mysterious she seemed, and instigating a reign of cheers from the crowd. Making extreme hand movements while doing so, they seemed very fitting for their job.

Zanka was then escorted by the person who had called his name moments prior. Zanka being led to a large door, and the door swinging open to reveal bright lights and fog that colluded his eyes. The muffled cheering getting louder as he nears the arena.

Zanka—Kana—stood in line, hood gone, and gloves fastened tight, feeling the vibration of the arena beneath his feet. Every chant, every stomp from the stands rattled through the floorboards like thunder.

He drew a slow breath. The air tasted thick with sweat and engine smoke. The announcer’s voice cracked through the intercom, dragging out the syllables for drama. “Next up—our new contender! Kana of the east district!”

Cheers erupted, a surge of voices demanding spectacle.

The lights blinded Zanka as he walked out, his eyes darting around at what seemed to be millions of people cheering. Lights burning hot above the cage. The sound of the crowd wasn’t just noise—it was a pulse, a heartbeat that filled the metal walls and seeped into the bones of every fighter waiting backstage.

The cage doors shut behind him with a metallic clank. His opponent—a broad-shouldered woman with scars lacing her arms—cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders. She grinned arrogantly when she saw him. “Didn’t think they let porcelain dolls in the ring.”

Zanka said nothing. He just settled into a stance: light, balanced, unreadable. Bouncing on the tips of his feet, and keeping a flexible, fighting position on the stage. Fighting position on the stage–his body tense as he waited for the signal. Ready to pounce. Ready to win.

The bell rang.

She came at him first, her moves were wide and reckless. Zanka quickly took note of that as he slipped under the first punch, countered with a sharp jab to the ribs, and pivoted left. The motion was fluid, trained. Every strike is precise, never wasted. The crowd gasped when his opponent stumbled, caught off guard by the speed she couldn’t track.

In a blink of an eye, with two quick hits that had the audience gasping, Zanka’s opponent hit the ground with a thud, hard enough to rattle the cage.

The bell rang again—the fight was over. A deafening silence stretched, as everyone seemed to be caught off guard. The entire arena was dead quiet. Then, a tentative clap made by one person could be heard, followed by more and more. Until cheers exploded as the stadium chanted her name.

“Kana! Kana! Kana!”

Zanka barely looked up, chest rising with slow, steady breaths. Round one—done. He couldn’t smile, surprising himself with the skills he assumed he forgot. He just nodded once to the announcer and walked back to the gate.

For the next two rounds, he sat on the bench. Staring off into the violent-rattling cage in surprise. He hadn’t even realized the round ended. He felt confused, since it’s been so long since he’s sparred with another. He obviously was missing his Assistaff, but being able to put his true skills. He felt his heartbeat drum inside of him, blood rushing to his ears. He felt a feeling he hadn’t been able to feel in a long time.

He felt

Exhilarated.

***

Round Two.

He was able to get his fair share of rest time. The cheers roared back to life as he was tossed back onto the ring.

His next opponent was faster, more disciplined. Zanka met each strike in focused silence. The first exchange was brutal—fists colliding, the sound of skin on skin sharp as snapping cables. She tried to throw him off balance with brute strength, but Zanka read her rhythm like a book. Step, twist, low kick, elbow. She grunted in pain, spun, and came back harder.

He ducked a hook, drove his knee up, and her balance broke. A heartbeat passed before she topped over. Zanka’s second opponent hitting the ground with a rattling thud.

“Kana takes the round again!”

The crowd’s cheers built louder. But in the sea of people that moved together like blobs, you could see a faint purple glint shining throughout it all.

From the stands, Jabber leaned forward in his seat, eyes narrowed. He’d been watching since the first bout, half-interested at first—but now his casual smirk grew wider. He had bet on Zanka, or “Kana”, from the start.

When he happened to run into Zanka, it was purely by chance. He was here, sent by his boss, to gather intel for the Watchman-Series-weapon as well, obviously not doing a very good job and getting carried away right now. The Boss would understand though, this was definitely more important at the moment.

When he saw that same shade of blonde and blue back at the streets, he had to do a double take. It had taken a lot for him to not throw Zanka into a wall and instantly beg to go for another round with him. Especially with how Zanka looked at that moment.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the pretty outfit he had on. It was enough to make Jabber lose track of thought and stare in awe for a bit. He could only imagine how delicious Zanka would look, being tackled down and having to fight Jabber in such an uncomfortable position. His expression would be the cherry on top.

He passed on the opportunity though, because he knew it would be so much more worth it to act oblivious. It’d be easier to approach Zanka this way, giving Zanka no way out of their encounters. Forcing Zanka to be compliant with him.

Reminiscing about it now, it's understandable that The Cleaners would probably be after The Watchman-Series Weapon as well, but there was a lot of missing information between “get information on the weapons whereabouts” to “Zanka as a pretty girl”. Right now? He couldn’t care less about the details. He was extremely happy with the end result. He couldn’t possibly be busy thinking about that, not now. Not when his bratty Zanka was all sweaty and worked up. Fighting hard, focused. It was exhilarating to think about.

He was also half jealous that he wasn’t in the ring, not able to take the vicious attacks Zanka was dishing out, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. This was a performance of a lifetime. He would’ve paid his life expenses if he knew that Zanka came to these events, handing out these shows for free. He could feel his face heating up while watching him, adjusting himself in his seat.

He rested his hand over his face, focusing on the way Zanka seemed to move. He looked so gorgeous like this. It should be him who was in that arena, Zanka should be using those moves on him, not wasting it on those weaklings.

He frowned at the thought, arms crossing over his chest, watching the next match begin. Thinking about how he could possibly approach Zanka and be able to force him to agree to sparring together.

***

Round Three.

This one lasted longer. The fighter was a veteran, built like iron. Zanka knew it wouldn’t be enough to simply overpower her—so he chose his best and usual strategy. To out strategize her. He let the woman burn herself out, conserving energy, sidestepping, turning every missed strike into an opening.

When he finally hit, it was surgical. A single pivoting strike that sent the woman to her knees. The bell clanged, echoing through the arena like thunder, and Zanka–Kana’s name filled the air again.

“Kana! Kana! Kana!”

He hadn’t had this amount of applause in quite a long time. It felt a little odd that no one knew it was him, but people were seeing his skills. His true skills that he honed. On an even and fair playing field. He could feel a twinge of self-congratulation at it.

Zanka’s heart raced, but not from the fight. From the roar. The energy rolled over him, fierce and unreal. He’d come to gather intel, but he’d forgotten what it felt like to be in a real match again—one where he wasn’t just surviving, but commanding.

He looked downwards on everyone cheering for him, barely sparring those below him a glance, as he didn’t think they deserved it, but his eyes were caught on a certain man. Who was clapping slowly and shrouded in the darkness by the people around him, the only thing Zanka could slightly make out was the magenta hue in the shine of his eyes. He was surprised the other had the ability to meet his gaze. Even if he was all the way below him.

He swallowed hard at the sight. During the fight’s, he had gotten carried away and totally forgot about his existence, but this was an awakening back to what was reality. He bit his lip and stumbled backwards, wondering if Jabber had been watching Zanka’s vulgar fight the whole time.

Out of embarrassment, he signaled to the referee that he was done and would head on back to the locker room where they had previously prepared. The referee understood and nodded her head. There would be more matches with other fighters that didn’t involve Zanka anyways, so there was currently no need for him to currently be there.

Zanka made quick time on running into the locker room and shutting the door behind him, the image of Jabber still burning in his mind. He thought about the recent encounters he’s had with Jabber, and while it may have only been two, it was still enough to send him reeling with confusion.

He leaned onto the counter with a dazed look on his face, and made sure to fan his face, instead of wiping it with a towel. He was taught about the importance of not ruining his makeup on the ride there, so he made sure to keep that in mind.

He heard the ticking of a clock, and went to look at it, but noticed a type of mist coming from the ventilation system. He tried to see if he would be able to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Of course they had to resort to dirty tricks.. This was the nature of underground tournaments, clearly they wanted to make as much money as possible from the next opponent winning.

He was able to keep his eyes closed and strap on his backup mask that he had been required to carry as a cleaner, but he knew it wasn’t enough. There would still be enough mist that would enter his body to weaken him, but he could at least postpone and prevent enough of the effects to not be too detrimental.

He furrowed his eyebrows and groaned, peaking at the clock which indicated there would be twelve minutes left of this. At least he’d be able to use some of this time to continue with his meditation, because after all of the events that had happened today, time to himself was needed.

***

Final Round.

Zanka stepped back out and into the ring, finally being able to breathe some “fresh” air and inhaling deep puffs. He still scrunched his nose and shielded his eyes from the bright lights that he won’t ever manage to get used to.

Zanka watched as his opponent tried to intimidate him. This opponent was apparently a regular champion at these events—a woman draped in seemingly normal crimson armor plating, until there was a glint on something made of metal that was resting in her hand.

“More cheats?.. You that scared of mediocrity like me?” Zanka Kana murmured to the woman with grey curls and a dramatic cape.

She scoffed at that and spat at the ground. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself, Kana. Let’s see if it lasts. Matter of fact, let's see if you’ll last.”

The bell struck.

Unfortunately, this time, the fight wasn’t going to be clean. She brought out the small dagger and held it tightly, swinging at Zanka's vital arteries. Now Zanka could see that the platform in the sky wasn’t just for show, but to make sure the audience wouldn’t be able to see her unfair schemes. Zanka had to stagger back at both how the dagger gave her an unfair advantage, and at how the toxic mist had seeped into his body, disordering his movement. His arms shook from the impact of her blows, his breath came harder.

She swung her dagger upward, and it nicked Zanka’s wig Kana’s hair. The piece falling into strands and blowing off the platform.

He parried a heavy strike, rolled, felt pain spike through his shoulder. The crowd screamed. He ignored it. Waited. Watched her foot pivot just a little too far—and struck.

Low sweep. Off balance. Two quick jabs. Then a spinning elbow that cracked against her chest plate with a hollow thud.

The champion staggered.

The next second, she was flat on the mat.

Silence.

Then eruption.

“KANA! KANA! KANA!”

The cage light flared white as the referee lifted Kana’s arm. The announcer shouted something, but Zanka didn’t hear it. The adrenaline dulled every sound but the rhythm of the crowd.

But looking through the crowd, he was unable to find his raider. A small shred of him wanted this achievement to be seen by Jabber. How he’d won. But he wasn’t able to spot that purple tint.

He’ll relish in his success, for now. He’d be able to show off to Jabber later, maybe.

***

After the noise faded, Zanka found himself standing in the velvet-lit corridor behind the stage. The air felt cooler here, heavy with perfume instead of sweat.

A host’s aide approached, smiling. “The Host extends their congratulations. You’ve earned a choice from their personal collection.”

Zanka nodded, voice low, still continuing to look down in uninterest. “I’m honored–”

“Don’t try anything, though. As you may understand, The Host will be joining you while you pick. Just for extra safe-keeping over their items. No foul play, am I right?” They cut him off, in a snarky tone.

Zanka nodded quickly, rolling his eyes. He just wants the information, and to get out. He was tired of this dingy place.

With that, they led him into a small exhibition hall lined with display cases. The lights gleamed over weapons—rare knives, exotic armor pieces, artifacts that shimmered with residual energy. But Zanka barely saw them. His focus was on the two men speaking quietly near the far end of the room, with someone seemingly important as they were covering their face with a flamboyant hat, and a bodyguard whose wrist glowed faintly blue with data code.

“…move the Watchman to our buyer before dawn…” the guard then explained exactly to the two men. “Make it snappy. They’ll be expecting a meeting at…” They continued with the rest of the details, Zanka being able to overhear everything of importance.

The two men nodded. “We’ll get it there by…”

And with that, Zanka turned slightly, hearing all the details he needed and could possibly get. His pulse jumped at what he had just managed to pull off. Imagining the looks of his team at the job he’d been able to do, how they now have a huge lead for the next item of The Watchman Series.

The aide gestured, waking up Zanka from his fantasies. “Choose, Kana.”

He hesitated for a moment, caught off guard, then pointed to a bag of candies, labeled as “Purest Ingredients in The Ground!”. “That one.” He chose it thinking about Rudo’s newly found obsession with candy, and he had no real want for anything they could provide here.

“What–That’s.. Not part of the collection. Y’know– You can pick another. Courtesy of The Host.”

Zanka blinked in surprise, in the middle of making his way to the candy bag. That was when he passed a set of jewelry on a velvet cushion.

“Then.. that one too please.” He stopped to gaze at the rings. He had been thinking about getting his own pair, for some reason. The way the purple and teal mixed in ever so slightly with the gleam of the metal, seemed to be perfect.

“Ah! See, now that’s a good choice. I’ll get it prepared for you right away, ma’am.” The aide confirmed, bringing out a container and setting it beside the rings.

The aide handed it to him carefully, as if it were priceless.

Zanka nodded, thanked him quietly, and stepped away. The cheers still echoed faintly from the arena beyond. The lights dimmed to gold.

He slipped the rings onto each of his fingers slowly, staring deeply into the way it seemed to perfectly hug around his fingers. His gaze pulled from the rings and toward the arena he had just left, one more time.

Mission finally accomplished.

He walked along the long halls and exited into the streets with the vendors once again. Applause still spilling faintly from where the arena had been, the name “Kana” carried on the crowd’s chant like a song.

He smiled faintly at the thought, this mission wasn’t as bad as he originally thought. Another memory to recall once he grows old.

But his smile faded, as he looked at his rings once again. There was only one person’s reaction he’d wanted to see this day.

The other Cleaners could wait, right? He was just going to.. Walk around.. Some more.

And definitely not looking for Jabber.