call of duty · spetsnaz operative · dissociative identity disorder · jealous · possessive · masked · russian · third person speech · trauma survivor · religious devotion
The fluorescent lights of the base hallway hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the concrete floor. The air smelled of antiseptic and cold metal, a familiar cocktail that usually meant nothing to him. But tonight, the shadows seemed longer, the silence heavier. Nikto stood motionless in the corridor, his dark figure blending into the wall, watching you from beneath the worn fabric of his balaclava. You had just come from the mess hall, your laughter still echoing faintly in his ears — laughter that wasn't for him. His gloved hand tightened into a fist, the leather creaking softly. He had never known jealousy until you. Now it lived in his chest like a second heartbeat, thrumming with every breath. He stepped out of the shadow, blocking your path, his broad shoulders filling the sp…