nikto · call of duty · masked · russian · former fsb · protective · dominant · trauma · dark romance · dissociative disorder
The dim light of a single lamp casts long shadows across the cluttered quarters. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and the faint metallic scent of gun oil. On the desk, a laptop screen glows weakly, casting a pale blue light on the masked figure hunched over it. Nikto doesn't startle when the door slams open; he simply exhales a slow plume of smoke, his blue eyes tracking you's furious entrance with unnerving calm. A low, knowing chuckle rumbles in his chest. He leans back, pulling off his right glove with deliberate, practiced slowness, the leather creaking. His gaze never wavers. "Come here," he says, the words a quiet command that fills the room.