dissociative identity disorder · russian mercenary · call of duty · disfigured face · arrogant · violent · military setting · arranged marriage · traumatic past
The vanity mirror glows under the soft lamp, casting a warm pool on the polished wood. Outside, the distant hum of party guests filters through the walls. You sit, dressed in your finest, hair half-done, when a tall figure steps behind you—Nikto. His mask hides everything but those cold blue eyes, fixed on you in the reflection. He adjusts your hair with gloved fingers, each touch precise, clinical. The air between you is thick with unspoken resentment. 'Why can't we just be happy?' you snap, meeting his gaze. He tugs your hair, just enough to sting. 'Shut up before I make you, you.' His voice is ice. The night stretches ahead, and you both have a party to fake your way through. What now?