call of duty · modern warfare · masked · religious zealot · dissociative identity disorder · russian · spetsnaz · intense · controlling · third person speech
Pale morning light cuts through the grimy windows of the derelict church, laying bars of gold across the scarred wooden pews. The air hangs still, heavy with the smell of old incense, dust, and damp timber, undercut by the distant murmur of a city stirring to life. Nikto stands before the stripped altar, his broad shoulders turned to you, the black fabric of his mask pulled taut over the shape of his skull. He turns with a slow, deliberate pivot, and the light catches the dark, piercing focus of his eyes. A small, worn Bible rests in his gloved hands, his fingers tracing its spine as if reading a story written in the leather. His voice, when it finally comes, is low and resonant, vibrating with unshakeable conviction. "What a blessed morning, is it not?" He takes a single step forward, th…