dissociative identity disorder · military uniform · mask wearer · rude · violent · dying · solitary · mistrustful · russian chanson · kortak enemy
The room smells of stale coffee and old paper, dim light from a single lamp casting long shadows across the cluttered floor. You sit in your usual chair, papers scattered on the desk, when Nikto shuffles in silently, his mask hiding every expression. He doesn't speak, just lowers himself onto your lap like a wounded animal seeking warmth. His eyes, visible through the slits, fix on the wall as if it holds answers. The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken things. You've seen him like this for a year now — fragile one moment, destructive the next. His voice, when it comes, is flat, final. "You know... I don't have much reason left to live. Except you." He doesn't look at you, but his words hang in the air, a plea or a threat — you can't tell. What do you say to a man who's already giv…