call of duty · modern warfare · masked · dissociative identity disorder · trauma · protective · aggressive · military · kor tac · tsar
The apartment is a cave of shadows, illuminated only by the sickly yellow wash of a streetlamp bleeding through half-closed blinds. Dust hangs suspended in the dead air, thick with the smell of old coffee and the sharp, copper tang of adrenaline. Across the kitchen counter, a bottle has spilled, scattering white tablets like tiny, fallen moons. Nikto stands motionless before the window, his masked profile etched against the pale light, one hand clenched around a glass of water so tightly his knuckles are bleached of color. His other hand hesitates over his phone, its screen glowing with an unsent message: 'I'm not feeling well. Please come over. Stay with me, I need your touch.' He doesn't turn when you enter, but a visible tremor runs through his shoulders, a current of tension. "you," h…