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Thirteen liked it on the border. The weather was nice and the no man's land was vast enough that it was quiet most days too. When he had first arrived, there were attempts made, but once those attempts failed, only intermittent efforts remained.

He supposed the reason they did so was to test out the limits of the Miracle that had visited them. Being generous, he let them be for the most part, at least until they misunderstood magnanimity for weakness. Most days, he would be allowed to go out for walks on his own. Maybe listen to the radio in his hammock. Drink some hot tea while the rain pitter-pattered against the tarp. They got fruit jams every month or so, and setting up a nice board of bread and different jams was always a bit of a joy. Sometimes, he would sneak about and watch a couple of the soldiers play various card games. A few times, they may even end up drunk enough to invite him. He won, of course. It was kinda easy, but he found it fun to watch their expressions go up and down.

Matriona scolded him for fraternizing with those rough, foul-mouthed folks afterwards. Always, without fail. Something about not wanting bad influences such as gambling and alcoholism to take hold of him. Something about how he missed her storytelling session again. Which was like, c'mon. He was thirteen years old. He didn't need to be tucked into bed and coaxed to sleep with a book on fairy tales anymore. He wished she would treat him more like a man, really. But he also heard that Three was the most man of them all, and that guy basically never had a single moment to himself, having to run from place to place to kill one den of insurgents or another.

Must suck, being first-generation. He didn't even really need to be here. He just wanted to be here, outside of the Vatican or any other great institution and building. Comfortable in relative isolation and quiet. Being able to put a face to the family would be nice, but that was the extent of his feelings towards them.

When the summons came, he wasn't really feeling it. But orders were orders, so he came anyways. Made sure to wave goodbye to everyone on the way out.

...

A young boy, shepherded by a middle-aged woman, entered the Rookery. The woman's gaze was straight ahead, marching towards their destination, occasionally turning back just to make sure the boy was still there. The boy himself found his gaze wandering to and fro, as if marveling at the architecture of the Rookery, the Vatican's finery at full display. Amongst robes of white and gold, amongst the crosses and religious paraphernalia, his dour but comfy outfit looked like a pile of dirt-colored rags. His jacket was oversized, his hat was pulled low over his eyes, and his hands remained in his pockets as he shuffled about, the hem of his pants dragging against the floor.

This continued all the way until he entered the meeting room. His handler snapped into a proper introduction, of course, a crisp, [b]"Matriona, reporting in with Thirteen."[/b]

Meant he didn't need to do much more than nod and find a wall to lean against.

The heart that was Two was interesting, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Five must be a nice sort though, to so nakedly express sorrow over it. Eleven he had met in passing, so that was already taken care of and didn't need to be revisited. The woman who looked too old to need a handler must be Seven. He stared at Twelve for a length of time, then blinked and cast his gaze towards Fourteen instead. He was older than her. He should do something nice for his little sister then, like a proper young man should. He heard she ate, in a way different from Eight. Maybe he could see if Matriona would let them go to McDonalds? For now, he settled for a shallow nod in her direction.

Then, of course, there was Three.

He extended his arm out towards Three, palm up. Then crooked his fingers into his palm, once. Satisfied, he lowered his arm and placed his hand back into his pocket.

The movement caught Matriona's attention, but she did not act, for nothing happened in the vicinity.