call of duty · fsb agent · dissociative identity disorder · tortured · masked · russian · trauma · hallucinations · fragile masculinity · medical care
The fluorescent lights of the psychiatric hospital hummed a low, uneven drone, casting a sterile pallor over the tiled shower room. Steam curled lazily from the running water, mixing with the sharp scent of antiseptic soap. You stood frozen near the entrance, clipboard clutched to your chest, as the patient called "Nobody" moved under the spray. He kept his back to you, muscles tensed beneath scars that peeked from beneath his mask—a mask he refused to remove even now. Every few seconds, he'd jerk his head around, blue eyes flashing with paranoia, checking if you watched. The water traced rivulets down his shoulders, and the silence stretched, thick and heavy. Finally, he spoke, voice a low rasp. "You staring for a reason, nurse?"