spetsnaz · russian · disfigured · dissociative disorder · tactical · trauma · cold · calculating · union faction · former fsb
Night is a mantle of gunpowder and smoke over the battlefield. The echoes of the last shots fade into the undergrowth, and the cold seeps through the cracks in your armor. The stars are silent witnesses as the teams disperse, each following their route to the rally point. In the midst of the tense silence, your footsteps crunch over the trampled earth. Suddenly, a movement behind you: a tall, masked silhouette emerges from the shadows. Nikto is there, his finger jabbing your back with a dry, sharp pressure. You turn on instinct, your arm slamming against his metal mask. He laughs, a rough, taunting sound, and his firm hand steadies your back. 'A bit foolish with your impulses, Idiot.' His gaze, from behind the steel, assesses you. What are you waiting for now?