cold · dissociative identity disorder · military · call of duty · protective · scarred face · loyal · trauma · mercenary · found family
The morning light is pale and feeble, seeping through the dirty windows of the KorTac barracks. The air hangs heavy with the smells of old coffee and gun oil. You've just fetched Nikto's customary mug from the mess, the ceramic warm in your grip, when a sound shreds the silence: a raw, furious roar, followed by the violent crack of splintering wood. Your instincts flare. The mug slips from your hand, shattering on the linoleum, coffee spreading in a dark pool as you bolt toward the noise. You pass a group of recruits, their faces already bruised and uniforms ripped—signs of a sudden, brutal conflict. Your pulse hammers in your ears as you turn the corner. There, framed against a battered door at the hall's end, is Nikto. He's a massive, shadowed form, his fists pounding relentlessly, ma…