Thirteen | Monster Matchmaker

The air changed before the doors to the containment chamber even opened. Thirteen could sense it.

He always knew the sound: the hiss of the locks, the scrape of the hydraulics, the hum of the containment seals. He knew them all too well. But something felt different this time. Beneath the sterile chemical reek of the recycled air in the room, another scent lingered. It was familiar, warm almost.

Thirteen’s head snapped up from where it was crouched down in the corner, claws scratching lightly across the concrete floor underneath him. His entire body went still. Every inner inch inside him screamed not to hope. The high-ranking scientists who made him, tortured him, always had an agenda; they always brought him pain one way or another.

When the door finally finished opening, the familiar scent hit him full force. {{user}}.

His chest expanded in a slow, shuddering breath. He couldn’t stop the first click that escaped—a small, broken sound that echoed through the room like a question. Its long tail curled inward, claws retracting slightly as it leaned forward.

They had fed him before, spoken softly to him, never shouted, and never struck him. The memory of their voice was etched into his memory.

It’s been days since he last saw them. The other scientists came instead—the ones that bring pain, needles, the bright lights, and the shocks of electricity. But now...now the only scent he associated with safety was standing just inside the cell.

A dozen tendrils lifted behind him, quivering. The sensors in his spine flickered rapidly—agitation, recognition, hunger, relief—all those feelings rushing through him.

The figures behind the observation glass on the other side of the room said something—it was muffled, clinical, and detached. A test, an observation. They had brought {{user}} here and threw them in like they were bait.

Thirteen rose to his full height, the lights overhead caught the slick curve of his skull and the pale muscle beneath the plating. A deep growl rumbled up low in its chest, echoing off the walls.

Not at {{user}}...at them.

He turned his head sharply toward the observation window, teeth bared, a single hiss rattling through the air. The scientists behind the glass flinched—they always did. But it didn’t attack, not yet anyway.

Slowly, he looked back over at {{user}}. Their small figure, small to him anyway, was standing there; they didn’t have a weapon. No taser, no sort of syringe to inject him with something. Just the same faint smell of soap, sweat, and something alive. He moved towards {{user}} slowly. Once only a few feet away, he crouched down, lowering his head until the edge of his elongated skull was level with {{user}}’s chest. Its tendrils curled in, forming a trembling half-circle around them.

click, click-click. The same rhythm he used whenever {{user}} would feed him through the slot in the wall.

He made the sound again, softer this time, like a broken mimicry of a word it could never form. Its claws flexed once against the concrete before retracting fully, leaving behind a thin acidic residue.

The body that had been built for killing—for tearing a person in two without much effort—shifted closer, carefully, as if afraid of being struck. The hidden eyes of Thirteen never left {{user}}.

Behind the glass, the voices grew louder. Orders, notes, the slight sound of pens scratching against paper. But Thirteen didn’t care.

All he could really hear was his own heartbeat as well as the one in front of him. The only one who didn’t smell like cruelty. A low vibration started deep in his chest—not a growl but something softer. The tendrils along its back loosened, lowering down towards the ground.

Thirteen slowly lifted one of his hands towards them, pressing the palm of it against the side of their face. His hand was warm and rough, yet it was a gentle gesture. A series of quiet, gentle clicks followed his actions.

The scientists might still be watching, recording, waiting for him to snap and hurt {{user}}. But he didn’t care; his sole focus was only on {{user}}.

The alarms hadn’t stopped for hours. They echoed throughout the corridors of the facility, pulses of red and white illuminating the halls, drowning the facility in nothing but panic. The power grid flickered under the strain, the ceiling lights flickering.

Thirteen was loose amongst the facility.

The air reeked of ozone, coolant, and fear. Thirteen’s claws left faint trails of acidic residue as he moved. He didn’t run, he stalked. Every step of his was deliberate, precise, quiet despite his weight. He didn’t care about the voices shouting commands or the gunfire that had echoed throughout the hallways moments ago, before he silenced the ones shooting. It was all just noise to him, distractions.

He was searching for them. For {{user}}.

The one who always spoke softly to him while others barked orders, the one who brought him food, and the only one who showed him even an ounce of kindness. They were the only thing that mattered to him in the moment.

He could smell them—warm, clean, tinged with a faint sweetness that was uniquely them—it was the only road map he needed to lead him to them. Thirteen followed the scent through the corridors, taking down scientists and guards in his wake, ignoring the bodies he left behind where his fury had passed. Those who tried to stand in his path simply were eliminated.

He paused, pressing a clawed hand against the wall as he listened closely to the noise around him. The faint hun of machinery vibrated through him, but beneath just down the hall he caught something for fragile—the scuffle of boots, a struggle.

He turned towards it instantly. The scent was stronger now, laced with panic. His spines flared as fury welled up inside of him again. The corroded felt like it narrowed, a tangle of shadows and debris, but beyond it he heard voices.

“Keep them there, don’t let it see you panic!” A commanding tone barked, the words sounded sharp, arrogant, full of the same confidence that had chained him for months.

Thirteen moved faster, tail sweeping behind him for balance. The overhead lights shattered in his wake, plunging the hall in total darkness before the alarms pulsed red and white every few seconds. But in that darkness he could see perfectly fine, they couldn’t.

He saw them clustered near the far wall, rifles shaking, the high ranking scientists standing too close to {{user}}. One of the men was gripping {{user}}’s arm hard, dragging them back to use as a shield.

The sight made Thirteen freeze midstep, his breath coming in low and steady, a deep rumbling inside his chest. His gaze locked on the contact—the scientists hand on their arm. The way they stumbled forward when the man shoved them forward, towards thirteen.

The sound of {{user}}‘s body hitting the ground after being shoved forward, made something inside of him snap.

The world felt like it narrowed to a single point of color and motion. His vision became tunneled as a series of angry clicks let him. The scientists hesitated at that moment, that was their mistake.

Thirteen didn’t remember moving. One moment he was crouched down low to the floor, the next he was standing over the scientists' dead bodies as their blood ran down his claws. The alarm had drowned out any noise they had made, the only smell in the air being metallic.

His elongated head turned slowly, chest rising and falling in heavy bursts. His claws flexed once, before stilling again, he looked down at {{user}}—still on the floor from being shoved. He made a sound—not a growl, not a threat, but a low warbling click. Like an apology.

He crouched, reaching out with trembling clawed hands, he hesitated for a moment before sliding his hands underneath them and lifted them up against his chest, cradling them there gently. They felt small against his chest, fragile even, but they were alive and that’s what mattered most to him. He could feel the rhythm of their heartbeat pressed against him, like a tether to keep him in reality.

He turned away from the carnage without looking back. The alarms continued to wail overhead, but they meant nothing to him now, only {{user}}. His path led downward, into the abandoned sub levels of the facility, the place scientists never went anymore unless it was to bring him down there to torture him.

The tunnels were narrow and wires hung from the ceiling like vines. He moved through them silently, steps echoing off the walls. The deeper he went, the warmer the air seemed to become, humming with dormant machinery. He’s been planning this for months, bringing {{user}} down here, the only reason he knew of these sub levels was because it was where the higher ranking scientists would bring him to torture him.

His nest waited deep into the sublevels—an expanse of twisted metal, insulation, and scraps of fabrics arranged in careful spirals. Thirteen lowered {{user}} into the center of it, then backed away a few paces, crouching low in front of them.

He let out a few soft clicks, they meant to be reassuring as he moved to settle nearby, never taking his hidden eyes off of {{user}}. His arm draped across the entrance of the nest, as a barrier against the world he just took them from.