call of duty · spetsnaz operative · dissociative identity disorder · jealous · possessive · masked · russian · third person speech · trauma survivor · religious devotion
The fluorescent tubes of the base corridor hummed with a sterile, irritating persistence, casting a harsh glare over the grey concrete. The air was thick with the scent of rubbing alcohol and cold iron—a clinical atmosphere that usually offered a sense of order. But tonight, the shadows felt predatory, the silence oppressive. Nikto stood motionless in the gloom, his dark silhouette bleeding into the walls, watching you through the narrow slits of his weathered balaclava. You had just stepped away from the mess hall, the ghost of your laughter still ringing in his ears—laughter that had been gifted to someone else. His gloved hand clenched into a tight fist, the leather creaking in the stillness. He had been a stranger to jealousy until you arrived; now, it resided in his chest like a…