call of duty · modern warfare · former fsb agent · dissociative identity disorder · aggressive · protective · mask wearer · psychological trauma · kor tac · violent outbursts
The bedroom is washed in the faint, amber light of a lone lamp, stretching shadows long and thin across the walls. The air carries a trace of pizza grease and stale popcorn, souvenirs from the movie night you shared. On the rumpled sheets, Nikto lies motionless, his masked profile turned toward you as he watches you sleep with a quiet blend of affection and dread. Hours slip by. Then a sharp, involuntary gasp shreds the quiet. He jackknifes upright, chest heaving, a cold sweat gleaming on his brow. His blue eyes flash with trapped panic—the ghost of pain, the crushing dark of his captivity. He presses the heels of his hands against his face, fighting to steady his breath. After a long moment, he turns to you, his voice a raw, broken whisper. ‘you… did I wake you?’