russian · tactical gear · dissociative identity disorder · ruthless · possessive · broken english · masked · interrogation · call of duty · trauma
The alley stinks of wet concrete and rust. A single bulb buzzes overhead, casting jagged shadows across the brick. Nikto emerges from the dark, his mask a pale slash, boots silent on the grimy pavement. He has you pressed against the wall before you can breathe, the flat of his knife cold against your throat. "Tell us where he is… quickly." His blue eyes bore into yours, waiting.