#nereidthinking

’Like hell we’re getting near that freak,’ was the general consensus. Jabber was worried for a moment that it would impact his ability to work, but his supervisors and seniors (both of which there are many because apparently, he’s a ‘handful’) are quite gracious, and approved his request. He even managed to nab himself a grant, and from there on it was all smooth sailing. 

Though… aside from a very select few people, he’s not supposed to talk about what he’s developing. Those people don’t really believe he can do it, but they say for ‘safety reasons’ that Jabber should keep his mouth shut.

Synthesising a toxin that hyper-charges the body's self-repair cycles and accelerates the healing process to absurd rates is typically considered something of a really bad idea (or science fiction). In the words of his favourite professor: ‘It is just cancer waiting to happen. Are you making a drug to induce cancer?’ 

Jabber had told her no, because obviously he’s smart enough for that not to happen. No, his drug is, essentially, a healing potion. An ultra-rare mystic-type item, brought straight from his favourite RPG to the real world. And he will make sure it doesn’t accidentally induce cancer. 

Apparently, though, saying the words ‘cure-all’, ‘long shelf life’, and ‘inexpensive’ are grounds for suicide by sniper rifle, so Jabber unfortunately does not get to brag to anyone about how delightful this little baby will be when she finishes her final spin in the centrifuge.

That’s correct: Jabber is basically done. He just needs to cut himself open and try it out. 

He can already hear his supervisor giving him a verbal beatdown, but does that really matter? Whether his trial has been approved by the ethics board or not, the fact that it works (which he’s almost certain it will) is irrefutable. And then he can make a patent and make a hell of a lot of money so he can spend the rest of his life playing with fun things in the lab. 

The centrifuge beeps happily as its cycle comes to an end, and Jabber whistles a short tune in response as he reaches in to pull out his prize. 

Beautiful, magenta liquid, like magic. Jabber can’t help the smile that grows on his face as he realises the practical result is as what he theorised. The vibrant, purple-pink colour is actually the byproduct of the chemical reaction required to bind each half of the molecule; being a stable, non-toxic compound, it would be more of a hassle to remove it than to keep it in, and, really, it adds a character that–

“Excuse me, is Mr. Jabber Wonger here?” Someone asks curtly, and Jabber– vial in hand– twirls around with a big grin, only to be met with someone suited up like a security guard for a club, sunglasses and all. 

Nevertheless, Jabber learned his manners just like everyone else. “That’s me,” he says cheerfully, turning back around to set up a test tube holder for his samples of the healing potion, “What can I do for you?” 

The click-click-clicking of wooden-soled shoes on the lab floor echo, and the sound of them is pretentious at best. “I’m gonna need ya ‘ta come with me,” he says, and Jabber can somehow tell that this is the start of something unpleasant. 

“I can’t,” Jabber says, unloading the centrifuge, “Can you give me like, four hours? I have to contact my supervisor so she can approve my–” 

“We need ‘ta go, now,” the intruder says, insistent. He pushes up his sunglasses onto his forehead, revealing pretty blue eyes and eyebrows that have been split three times each. “Ya don’t have any time.” 

Jabber rolls his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. Turning around, he groans, “Look, do you even have the right passes to be allowed in here? This is actually a–” 

Jabber meets the entertaining end of a gun, and he freezes. 

“Come with me, or yer dead,” the secret-agent looking man says firmly, “And I’ve been hired, actually, by yer supervisor– Semiu Grier, staff ID five-eight-six-six-three-six. Jabber Wonger, student ID one-eight-seven-one-five-one-one, I will be escortin’ ya to a secure location as determined by Project Anima.” 

The man flips a badge at him, too, and Jabber widens as he sees the very official-looking badge with an equally legitimate ID card underneath. 

Zanka Nijiku

Special Operations and Witness Protection

Officer ID 1871511

Jabber reads out the ID number, and he grins. 

“Hey, we have the same ID number,” he says, watching Zanka pocket the badge and return his gun to his holster, “What’s this for, anyway?” 

“I’ve told ya. I'm workin' for Project Anima. Get ready ‘ta leave.” 

Jabber shrugs, turning back to his desk and starts looking for corks to put on his test tubes. He wants to take this stuff with him– oh, and his notes, too. He needs those if he wants to make this stuff again. 

“My laptop’s in the office, can you grab that for me?” Jabber asks, corking up the final tube, “Oh, and I’ll need an insulated bag for these. Do you think a lunch bag would be okay?” 

“No wonder they call you a mad scientist,” Zanka mutters, grabbing Jabber by the collar of his lab coat and dragging him backwards, “Come on. Get yer shit from the office and then we have ‘ta go.” 

“Why?” Jabber whines, complying because unfortunately, if someone’s willing to hold a gun to his head, then they’re probably willing to shoot him, too, “Is this a kidnapping?” 

“No.” 

“You’re with the government! You could be here to silence me!” 

“...I’m here ‘ta make sure that no-one else gets ‘ta that first,” Zanka grumbles, leading the way out of the lab, “Laptop. Lunch bag. Let’s go.” 

“You need to wash your hands,” Jabber insists, shoving the corked tubes in his lab coat as he stops to soap up his hands, “There’s dangerous chemicals in there, you know!” 

Zanka glares. “I didn’t touch anything,” he says, “Where’s your laptop? I’ll get it for you.” 

“Okay!” Jabber says, working a lather between his digits, “My desk is the one furthest from the window and closest to the lab door. You can see it from here.” 

“The… one with all the figures over it? And the half-eaten protein bar?” 

“Yup! Take the laptop with the sticker of the anime girl with the syringe on it. That’s all my notes and stuff. Oh! And the USB stick, the pink one.” 

Jabber dries his hands off and heads to the fridge, pulling out one of his co-worker’s lunch bags and removes the contents out of the bag and back into the fridge, before he stuffs the several test tubes of precious liquid in. 

“That’ll break if you jostle it around,” Zanka scowls, Jabber’s laptop tucked underneath his arm, “Get some paper towel, stuff the bag, and let’s go.” 

“Jeez, what’s gotten you in such a bad mood today?” Jabber scoffs, realising a little belatedly that he forgot to take off his lab coat, “It can’t really be that serious, dude.” 

Suddenly, a bullet pierces through the window, and Jabber jumps. 

Zanka, however, seems prepared– and deeply irritated. With a growl he reaches for Jabber’s collar, and Jabber’s lucky he managed to zip up the lunch bag before he’s thrown to the floor, landing with a grunt. 

“Dammit, I said we have 'ta go!” Zanka screams, dragging him forward before he presses a hand to his earpiece. “Yeah, I said I got ‘im! Get the fuckin’ car here!” 

Zanka continues to drag him towards the exit, so fast that Jabber has no time to scramble to his feet before the lunch bag is being snatched from him and Zanka is shoving him towards the internal fire escape stairs. 

“Woah, w-wait, wait, dude!” Jabber shrieks, scurrying down the stairs, “They’re shooting at me?!” 

“I told ya, we don’t have time for yer fuckin' around!” Zanka scolds him, only inches behind, “Get movin’, or yer dead!” 

Jabber doesn’t really have a choice, now, so he bites down whatever snarky response he was generating in his head and runs down the stairs as fast as he can. If he’s honest, it’s all a little exhilarating; a mad scientist being hunted down for his breakthrough achievements by some mysterious, villainous organisation is a plot taken straight from the movies. Zanka is the super-spy sent by the government to protect him, so he shouldn’t need to worry too much, should he? 

Jabber reaches the bottom of the stairs and hesitates, waiting for Zanka, but Zanka just drags him forward again with another growl. 

“Ya can’t stop here, ya maniac!” He screeches, forcing open the door to outside, “C’mon, we’re gettin’ outta here!” 

His head is forced down just in time to miss the firing of a gun. A bullet lodges itself in a nearby wall. Zanka swears loudly, running as fast as he can with a hand tangled in Jabber’s hair. Jabber can only follow him and pray that he doesn’t get shot– he’s got so much left to do, like defend his thesis and feed his snake and–

Zanka cries out, stumbling for a moment, before he regains his footing and runs even faster, so fast that Jabber can barely keep up. They’re approaching a car now, and Jabber can only guess that this is their escape vehicle. 

“Get in the car, get in!” Zanka screams at him, once again pushing Jabber through another door, “Get inside, let’s go!” 

No sooner than Jabber has all four limbs in the vehicle does Zanka dive across his lap and slam the door shut, the car already beginning to move. A bullet hits the window, and it barely chips the top layer of glass, but Zanka swears loudly anyway. Jabber gets the feeling he does that a lot. 

“Jesus, Zanka, they hit you?” The driver up front gasps, his eyebrows raising over the top of his sunglasses, “Med kit’s in the glovebox, let me–” 

“I’ve got it,” Zanka groans, leaning forward and knocking the driver’s hand out of the way, “Focus on getting us out of here.” 

Jabber looks over, and his eyes widen as he spots the patch of dark red blossoming over Zanka’s suit and seeping out into the white of his shirt. It’s a bullet wound. 

“Oh, shit,” Jabber says, pushing himself against the door as if to give Zanka some more space, “That’s– that’s crazy.” 

Another bullet hits the window beside his head. Jabber flinches, his heart racing. 

“Nothin’ I haven’t been through before,” Zanka mutters, placing Jabber’s laptop and the lunch bag full of his cure-all liquid in the space between them, “Take yer fuckin’ laptop, and– Follo, give him the stick. Download that onto yer laptop. It’s not perfect, but it’ll help ya not be tracked. Do ya have a phone?” 

Jabber rummages in his back pocket, pulling out his smartphone. “Yeah, why?” 

Zanka holds out his hand. Jabber gives it to him, curious. Then, before Jabber can actually ask him what he needs it for, Zanka winds down the window and throws out his phone with a pained grunt. 

“What– what the hell, dude?!” 

“It’s either keep yer phone, or be killed. Take yer pick.” 

“Here you go, Mr Wonger,” the driver says cheerfully, holding out a USB drive to Jabber, “We’ll get your devices cleaned properly when we get to a safehouse. For the meantime, I’d suggest putting your seatbelt on.” 

Jabber takes the drive, disoriented. Beside him, the man who had practically kidnapped him is shrugging off his bloodstained jacket, only to reveal his no-longer white shirt underneath. The getaway driver looks forward, concentrating, and it’s then that the gravity of the situation really kicks in. 

He turns to Zanka. “What the hell is happening, by the way? I– I knew I could get in trouble, but Semiu’d kept everything a secret, right? So…” 

“There’s a rat in your lab,” Zanka answers. “Someone leaked yer project, and those guys you’d encountered earlier? They’re workin’ for... ah, well. Ya shouldn’t be surprised they’d target ya, come on.” 

Jabber chokes on a laugh. “Seriously?” 

“Seriously,” Zanka nods, giving a wry smile. “That’s why your supervisor got in touch with us. Ya should send her some flowers when ya get the time.” 

Jabber relaxes in his seat, fumbling around for the seatbelt at his side. “Woah.” 

“Don’t get too overwhelmed,” Zanka mumbles, hissing softly as his shirt slips to reveal not one, but two different bullet wounds in his shoulder and upper arm, “Ya’ve gotta survive for at least a week whilst we set ya up with a lab ‘nd stuff.” 

Whatever Zanka is saying gets drowned out by Jabber’s own thoughts. Zanka is severely injured, and there’s a lot of blood. It’s not in his best interests to let the guy die, considering that he’s part of the reason that Jabber wasn’t shot dead in his lab, and if he can do something to help, maybe he will. 

Maybe it’s to satisfy his own curiosity a bit, too.

“That’s a nasty wound,” Jabber says, reaching over and unzipping his lunch bag, “I know it hasn’t been tested officially, but you could always–” 

“Don’t even try it,” Zanka grunts. Jabber falters. 

“I– I mean, you don’t wanna bleed out, right? So you should try it, Zanka. Trust me. This was made to cure wounds like the one in your arm. Uh– the both of them!” 

“No, but thank you,” Zanka says, pulling out a bandage. “Only one of the bullets made an exit wound– the other is still inside. I don’t want to play games with lead poisoning.” 

Dammit. Zanka would have made a good guinea pig for Jabber’s cure-all. He’s not sure how the stimulants would act on the bullet, though– he doubts the flesh would do anything except heal around it, and that’s almost worse than the wound in itself. 

“Suit yourself,” Jabber shrugs, “Could’ve made a great story if you tried it and it worked.”

Zanka scoffs. “No. We’re gettin’ ya the resources to conduct clinical trials and finish yer publication, and yer gonna get that shit of yers on the market within the year. That’s our goal.” 

“A– A year?” Jabber asks, almost giddy, “Are you for real?” 

That’s ridiculously quick. If Jabber hadn’t had an attempt on his life, he would have been looking at just under ten years, and that’s if he was lucky enough to find a clinical lab and a manufacturer and all those other things that make it impossible to have an independent product on the market. It’s like a dream come true– and also a nightmare, because Jabber’s not going to get a single day of rest, is he? Not for the next year at least.

“I don’t know the details,” Zanka admits, bandaging his wound tightly with a wince, “But my job is ‘ta keep ya safe until then– or until yer project gets rejected.” 

Jabber’s still reeling, but he finds it in himself to nod. This is a dream come true for a researcher who is tired of academia– a shortcut through all the nasty stuff, and a chance to really let himself go.

“That’s… wow,” Jabber giggles, dizzy with excitement, “Oh, man, this is gonna be great. I gotta– I’ll get to call Mama and tell her, yeah? And my people? My homegirl, Mo–” 

“No.” Zanka interrupts. Jabber’s jaw snaps shut. 

Zanka pins the bandage in place, and he’s unable to meet Jabber’s gaze. Jabber looks between him and the driver, but both of them seem uninclined to elaborate. 

“Hey, what? What do you mean, ‘no’?” 

The car is eerily silent as they drive down the highway. Zanka sighs. The driver scratches the bridge of his nose before returning his hands to the steering wheel, but he’s visibly tense. Jabber huffs a laugh, turning to Zanka again and giving him an expectant look. 

“You can’t expect me to go no-contact, man, what the hell? You’ll– you guys have private lines of contact, right? Right?” 

Zanka seems more composed, like he’s rehearsed the coming line a hundred times over: “For the sake of yer safety, and the safety of yer family and contacts, ya will legally be declared dead in two days’ time. Then, you will be free ‘ta work and study in Agency-approved facilities until the termination of Project Anima.” 

Jabber stares. He thinks his ears are beginning to ring. He didn’t hear that right, did he? He didn’t. His hearing must have been damaged from the gunshots or something, because that doesn’t make any sense. What good would come of him being dead? 

“I’m– huh?” 

He needs to get out of here. With Zanka injured, he wouldn’t be an issue, but the driver– if Jabber can get the driver to stop, maybe he can hijack the car? Maybe, if he could knock him out, then he’d have a chance of veering this stupid car off-course and bring a premature end to this insanity. 

“You are dead, Mr Jabber Wonger. I’m afraid that ya won’t be able to contact anyone outside of the project until its conclusion.” 

“Careful, Zanka. He’s going to fight.” 

“I know, I know,” Zanka mutters, reaching into the door pocket as he looks directly into Jabber’s eyes, “If he can behave, I’ll make it painless.” 

Jabber presses himself against the side of the car, still restricted by his seatbelt. He looks behind himself out the window with the scenery rushing by at over a hundred kilometers an hour, then to the driver, and steels his nerves. He has to do this. 

Gritting his teeth, Jabber rears up a leg and aims to kick Zanka in the shoulder– in his weak spot. But Zanka seems prepared. He snatches Jabber’s ankle and shoves it back at him, throwing Jabber off balance even as he’s sitting down. Jabber attempts to undo his seatbelt, but Zanka once again has beaten him, blocking the button release with a foot. 

“Let me go– the fuck?! Let them kill me, dammit, don’t do this shit!”

Zanka hisses. “C’mon, just calm down, ya fuckin’–” 

“No!” 

Jabber tries kicking with his other foot, but even injured, Zanka is stronger and quicker. Even when Jabber tries to punch his injured shoulder, Zanka dodges the strike, and throughout their scuffle, the driver remains focused on the road, not slowing down even once. 

Jabber yelps as he feels his wrist yanked forward, and then something that looks like a pen is being pushed into his skin– and pierces it with a fine needle. 

“No, no!” Jabber growls, wrenching away, but he knows it’s too late. He makes another move to hurt Zanka, but his limbs are immediately too heavy for him and the strike lands weakly against the agent’s chest. Zanka huffs, pushing him off of him, and Jabber is so suddenly exhausted that he can do nothing but slump back against the seat of the car. 

“I’m sorry ya have ‘ta go through this,” Zanka says, his voice distant and hollow, like Jabber’s listening to him through a thick sheet of glass, “But yer research could save millions. Ya can’t give up yer life, and all yer people’s lives, without even tryin’ yet.” 

“You’re… sick,” Jabber rasps, his eyelids growing heavier without his consent, “I hate you.” 

“Yeah, well.” Zanka huffs a laugh. It sounds a little sad. “I get that a lot.” 

The last thing Jabber sees is a pair of azure eyes looking down at him pitifully, before his eyes close and his mind drifts away into nothingness. 

/////

I kind of had no idea what to do with this story for a bit, but I managed to draft up this pilot, and I'm happy with how it looks (i guess!) If this work gets to the point of near-completion, I'll put it up on ao3 :) for now, pls enjoy this itty bitty bit. ty for reading x

- 🫧

P.S. Also heyyyy. Listen to these bangers: