"I... I want to be useful."
Name: Unknown, simply called "Thirteen" or "Triska" by some
Age: 19
Description: A small boy at maybe 5'4", Thirteen is someone easily lost in a crowd. He has fairly pale skin with a sweet heart shaped face adorning a small nose and girlish lips. In fact, Thirteen is often mistaken for a girl at first introductions, which he highly distastes. He appears to be Eurasian, given away by his large slanted cat like black eyes, thin eyebrows, and short yet slightly curly black hair. Thirteen is thin, which he is embarrassed about, considering how slight his body structure is. He often wears black jeans and a long black coat with a white scarf— if anyone tries to take it, he'll go berserk. He the Roman numeral for thirteen tattooed under his left eye.
Phobi-Ability: Triskaidekaphobia, the fear of the number 13
Personality: Thirteen is commonly seen as strange. He keeps away from others and isn't very good with social interaction. In fact, Thirteen doesn't talk very much at all, and getting him to is a pretty big success. If you try to touch him, he'll flinch away with scared eyes and if you try to befriend him he'll blow you off. People say he's an antisocial jerk, but really he's just frightened.
He's scared that he is a bad luck charm, and that everyone who got close to him will only get hurt. Thirteen distances himself so as not to get attached to anyone anymore, so neither party experiences pain. He thinks he is better off alone, so his curse of bad luck doesn't affect people around him he cares about.
Thirteen is actually pretty superstitious, and if you try to do something like shatter a mirror or open an umbrella inside he'll hit you upside the head so fast you wouldn't see it coming. Sadly, though, he does happen to attract a lot of bad luck and has since he was younger— black cats always followed him, he'd accidentally walk under ladders and the worst was the number 13... but I'll save that for the background.
However, Thirteen does have a soft side. He likes cute things, though he doesn't admit it, and his room actually has many adorable stuffed toys that's he's embarrassed of. If he finds something cute, Thirteen has trouble brushing it aside and will want it desperately. He's also quite bashful if you hit the right nerve, and truly... he's always wanted to be hugged, but he's just afraid of the consequences to the other party.
Relations: He doesn't know his real family. His "brother" and his "grandma" both died, and somehow he blamed himself for their deaths.
Backstory: As early as he could remember, Thirteen was a nameless street rat who stole food to get by. He was apathetic of others, as seemingly emotionless as he is now, and only cared for himself and surviving.
When he was around nine, he stumbled upon another street rat like himself, one caught for stealing bologna and bread from a local shop. Thirteen would usually have just passed by, but there was something about the kid... he couldn't leave him.
Thirteen rushed in, snatching the boy up and racing off, far too fast on his feet for the group to catch. The boy thanked him, and shared the food with Thirteen as a gift for saving him. For a few years, they were brothers, and a menace to the small shopkeepers of the area.
One day while they were running away from a group of angry shopkeepers, they made a wrong turn into a construction site. Thirteen was running ahead, and only heard a loud clutter that sounded as if a bomb had gone off. It seemed time had slowed as he looked over his shoulder, and saw his brother crushed under a huge slab of wood, with a printed number "13" on the side.
Thirteen didn't cry, and it tore him up inside that he couldn't even mourn. A few months later, he was sitting in an alleyway passing time when the backslid opened. Thirteen didn't make a move to run, quietly raising his eyes to the woman who peeked out.
The woman took him in, he referring to her as "grandma" while he helped around the restaurant. Thirteen knew that the restaurant was just a cover, and that this store was something else entirely, but he didn't question what that was. Someone kind enough to take him in and care for him, how could he not trust her?
Then, one day a group of men came in. They seemed suspicious but Thirteen didn't mention it. Before he knew it, a bullet was fired right through grandma's head. Later, Thirteen found out she was a sort of mafia boss, but at the time he was so confused and horrified. And what date did he see on the calendar but the 13th? Thirteen wrapped the scarf she had made for him around his neck, the one so lovingly sewed because he was always cold, and left in silence. Again, he couldn't bring himself to cry.
The traumatized boy was said to have walked up to the building of research, holding out a small flyer he had found advertising the PHOBIA project. Quietly, he asked "I... I want to be useful. Please make me strong." Thirteen didn't want to lose anyone again because he wasn't strong enough to protect them. He wanted to be strong.
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