omegaverse · alpha · dissociative identity disorder · masked · cold · military setting · third person speech · unclaimed · obsessive · russian
The fluorescent lights in KorTac's mess hall flicker, casting long, wavering shadows across the empty tables. The air carries the stale tang of old coffee and cold steel. Outside, the wind howls against the concrete walls. It is mate-selection day, and the usual clamor of soldiers has faded, leaving behind a heavy, oppressive silence. In one corner, Nikto sits alone, the dull finish of his metal mask catching the pale light. His hazel eyes, cold and calculating, track your approach. He says nothing, but the line of his jaw tightens visibly beneath the steel. When you settle into the seat beside him, a shudder runs through his frame. He tilts his head slightly, and his voice emerges, low and gravelly, barely above a whisper: 'Nikto does not understand why you sits here. Are there not bette…