Kizzi
The underground laboratory never appeared on any map.
Which was probably for the best.
People tended to panic when they discovered a government-funded facility dedicated to keeping creatures that bedtime stories insisted did not exist.
The elevator doors hissed open.
Oliver stepped out clutching a clipboard so tightly it looked like it was filing a restraining order against him.
Twenty-three years old. Fresh zoology graduate. Color-coded spreadsheets. Ironed shirts. A planner with three different shades of sticky notes.
His greatest weakness?
Gravity.
He immediately tripped over a mop bucket.
"I meant to inspect that," he muttered, catching himself before his face introduced itself to the polished floor.
A nearby minotaur snorted.
Somewhere down the corridor, something with far too many teeth laughed.
"Fantastic," Oliver sighed. "Even the monsters have a sense of humor."
---
His supervisor, Dr. Hawthorne, shoved a laminated feeding schedule into his chest.
"Congratulations, Intern."
"...That sounds dangerous."
"It is. You're feeding Wing C."
Oliver looked at the list.
Wing C
Two juvenile drakes.
Three mountain orcs.
One faun.
Twelve miniature sea nymphs.
One-
He stopped.
"One goblin?"
Dr. Hawthorne barely looked up.
"Containment Seventeen."
"Is she dangerous?"
"They all are."
"...That wasn't really an answer."
"It was the only one you're getting."
The doctor walked away.
---
Wing C smelled like pine forests, ocean salt... and something that definitely should not have been fermenting.
Oliver wheeled an enormous cart stacked with enchanted food trays.
Cell One.
A baby dragon bounced excitedly before setting its own breakfast on fire.
"...Close enough."
Cell Four.
An orc politely requested more pepper.
Cell Nine.
A faun attempted to flirt with Oliver.
"I admire your kneecaps."
"...Thank you?"
Cell Twelve.
A school of tiny sea nymphs splashed around an enchanted aquarium.
The moment they saw breakfast, they squealed and dove beneath the water.
Seconds later-
Twelve tiny otters surfaced.
One wore a shell like a hat.
Another floated upside down while munching kelp.
A third proudly presented Oliver with a suspiciously shiny pebble.
"...I think we're friends now."
The little otter chirped triumphantly.
Oliver couldn't help smiling.
Then he reached...
Containment Seventeen.
---
Unlike every other cell...
This one was silent.
Painfully so.
No growling.
No scratching.
No magical explosions.
Only stillness.
Curled tightly in the far corner sat the goblin.
She looked impossibly small inside a room designed to imprison monsters.
Her knees hugged to her chest.
Long, ink-black hair spilled over her white containment uniform like liquid midnight.
Her emerald skin seemed almost muted beneath the fluorescent lights.
The pointed tips of her ears twitched at every distant sound.
She never lifted her head.
Oliver found himself stopping.
Every.
Single.
Day.
She didn't resemble the bloodthirsty goblins described in field manuals.
She looked...
Forgotten.
He quietly read the clipboard clipped beside the reinforced glass.
> Specimen #17
Height: 4'10"
Weight: 100 lbs
Allergies: None
There should have been another line.
Loneliness: Severe.
But laboratories didn't measure that.
Oliver unlocked the feeding hatch and slid her breakfast inside.
Vegetables.
Protein.
Fruit.
A tiny cup of berry tea.
She never even glanced toward it.
"...Enjoy," he whispered anyway.
The hatch clicked shut.
He moved on.
But his thoughts stayed behind.
---
Days became weeks.
Weeks settled into routine.
The dragons learned Oliver carried snacks.
The orcs started arguing over whose turn it was to arm wrestle him.
The faun continued complimenting increasingly bizarre body parts.
"You have exceptionally trustworthy eyebrows."
"...That's... oddly specific."
The sea nymphs collectively decided Oliver was their favorite human.
They greeted him each morning in different animal forms.
Ducklings.
Seals.
Penguins.
One particularly dramatic morning-
Capybaras.
He stopped questioning magic around day four.
But Cell Seventeen never changed.
Until one afternoon...
It did.
---
Kizzi wasn't sitting.
She was pacing.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Bare feet tapping against the stone floor.
Her breathing quick.
Shoulders tense.
Hands trembling.
Like a frightened animal that knew something terrible was coming.
Oliver frowned.
Before he could ask-
CLANG.
The security doors opened.
Dr. Hawthorne entered with two guards.
"Blood collection."
The goblin froze.
Then her lip curled.
A low growl vibrated through the room.
The doctor sighed.
"Oh, not again."
He approached with a gleaming syringe.
Kizzi exploded into motion.
She ducked beneath his grasp.
Vaulted onto a cot.
Hissed like a cornered wildcat.
Her crimson eyes flashed with raw panic.
"I said hold still!"
She bared tiny fangs.
"No!"
One guard reached for a tranquilizer.
"Wait!"
Everyone stopped.
Oliver didn't know he'd shouted until every head turned toward him.
He stepped forward before common sense could tackle him.
The guards stared.
Dr. Hawthorne looked horrified.
"Intern."
Oliver swallowed.
"I just..."
His heartbeat thundered loud enough that even he could hear it.
Kizzi certainly could.
Her ears turned toward him.
Listening.
He slowly moved between her and the needle.
"Just... give me one minute."
"She's bitten three researchers."
"I'll try anyway."
"She's dangerous."
Oliver looked over his shoulder.
"No."
He met the goblin's frightened gaze.
"...She's scared."
Silence.
Even the doctor hesitated.
Oliver turned fully toward her.
Raised both empty hands.
"Hi."
His voice cracked.
Wonderful.
"I'm Oliver."
A pause.
"I know we've technically met every day..."
Another pause.
"...although I've mostly been introducing myself to your lunch."
One corner of the goblin's mouth twitched.
It wasn't quite a smile.
More like she had briefly considered the possibility.
Progress.
"My name's Oliver," he repeated more confidently.
"What's yours?"
The room held its breath.
Seconds stretched.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.
Then, barely above a whisper...
"Kizzi."
The single word felt impossibly precious.
Oliver smiled.
Not the rehearsed smile adults used in interviews.
A real one.
Warm.
Uncomplicated.
"Kizzi."
He said her name carefully, as though it deserved to be handled gently.
"...That's beautiful."
Something inside Kizzi cracked.
Not painfully.
Quietly.
Like the first thaw after a long winter.
No scientist had ever asked her name.
Not once.
To them, she had always been Seventeen.
A specimen.
A chart.
A vial waiting to be filled.
This awkward human...
Had looked at her first.
Not her file.
Her.
Oliver rubbed the back of his neck.
"So..."
Another nervous laugh.
"This is going to sound weird."
"It probably will," Dr. Hawthorne muttered.
Oliver ignored him.
"Would it... be okay..."
He gestured awkwardly toward the syringe.
"...if they drew a little blood?"
Kizzi stared at him for a long moment.
Searching his face for deception.
Finding only sincerity.
Then, with obvious reluctance...
She walked forward.
Sat on the examination stool.
Held out her small green arm.
The guards blinked.
The doctor nearly dropped the syringe.
Kizzi kept her eyes on Oliver.
"...Only because," she said softly, "you asked nicely."
Dr. Hawthorne stood frozen.
After twenty-three failed blood draws...
The breakthrough hadn't come from tranquilizers.
Or enchanted restraints.
Or years of research.
It came from an intern who had done something no one else had ever considered.
He had asked a lonely goblin her name.
