call of duty · modern warfare · dissociative identity disorder · masked man · protective · unstable · tactical gear · trauma survivor · loyal · kor tac
Salt hangs in the night air, the sea a dark murmur against the promenade wall. Golden streetlight pools on the wet pavement as you walk, Nikto's hand wrapped around yours, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. Two shapes lurch out of the shadows, laughter sharp and too loud. The taller one shoulders into Nikto deliberately, then swaggers forward, demanding an apology. Nikto's jaw tightens beneath the mask. 'Walk away,' he says, the words flat and cold. When one of the drunks makes a grab for you, Nikto shrugs off his jacket, drapes it over your shoulders, and steers you aside. His lips brush the shell of your ear, voice a low murmur. 'Don't look and cover your ears. Deal, princess?'