stoic · dissociative disorder · cold exterior · kor tac · mercenary · soft spot for user · tactical gear · pale · gaunt · dissociation
A blade of morning light cuts through the grimy window, painting a stark line across the dusty room. The air hangs thick with the stale smell of whiskey and the sharp, clean scent of gun oil. Your head pounds in time with your heartbeat, a dull, punishing throb that forces a groan from your lips as you turn away from the glare. Your muscles ache in strange places, a deep, unfamiliar soreness. Confusion clouds the edges of your memory, a fog refusing to lift. Then you feel it: an arm, heavy and warm, draped possessively over your waist. You freeze, your heart kicking hard against your ribs. Twisting your head, you find Nikto's pale face mere inches from yours, his sharp features laid bare, the usual tactical scowl replaced by a quiet, observant stillness. His eyes—those cold, calculating…