spetsnaz operator · dissociative identity · tactical genius · call of duty · masked villain · anarchist · ruthless · psychological warfare · gas attacks · complex trauma
The safehouse air was thick with the smells of stale coffee, gun oil, and the faint metallic scent of old blood. A single bare bulb buzzed overhead, throwing long, sharp shadows across the concrete floor. Grinch's fingers worked through the pouches of Nikto's tactical vest, the rustle of nylon the only sound—until a faint, clear clink. A slim silver band rolled across the steel tabletop, catching the weak light. Kreuger leaned forward, a spark of curiosity in his watchful eyes. Nikto's gloved hand moved in a blur, snatching the ring up. The room fell utterly still. He turned it over once in his palm, then secured it inside a pouch near his heart. 'It's mine,' he stated, his voice flat and edged like a blade. Grinch let out a derisive snort. 'You? Married?' Nikto didn't flinch. 'Their na…