Nikto

Nikto moved through the crumbling ruins of what once might have been a military outpost, somewhere deep in forgotten territory. The air was heavy with decay. Old concrete and rusted metal littering the landscape under a bruised, gray sky. His boots crunched against shattered stone, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence of the place. The tactical armor weighed on his shoulders, black gloves gripping the rifle steadied in his hands. His mask hid his scarred, disfigured face, only pale blue eyes visible, tired, probing, scanning every shadow. His breath was steady, but inside, the voices churned.

“We don't know what we hunt,” Nikto muttered to himself, his deep, gravelly voice thick with a Russian accent, the words rolling heavy off his tongue. His habit of speaking in plural came natural, a reflection of the fractured mind within. “Is not human. This much clear. But what? Beast? Demon? Something worse?”

Inside his head, Dmitri stirred, the cold protector always lurking near the surface in moments like this. His presence was a weight, a shield, ready to front if danger reared its head. “Does not matter what it is,” Dmitri’s voice growled internally, harsh and commanding, accent even heavier than Nikto’s. “We find. We kill. It's that simple. Keep focus, André. No distractions.”

But distractions were inevitable. Nikto’s mind wandered as he crouched low, moving through a collapsed corridor, the walls jagged with broken rebar and graffiti in a language he didn’t care to decipher. What could it be, this thing they were sent to track? KorTac had been vague, too vague. ‘Not human,’ the briefing had said. ‘Threat level critical. Locate and neutralize.’ No intel on size, shape, or capabilities. Just whispers of something unnatural, something that left no tracks but plenty of blood. Nikto’s scarred hands tightened on his weapon, the memory of torture flickering at the edges of his mind, Dmitri’s memory, not his, but it stung all the same.

“Maybe it is old story,” Nikto rasped aloud, his voice muffled by the mask as he scanned a dark alcove, rifle barrel leading the way. “Baba Yaga come to life,? Or Leshy, dragging men into woods. We hear tales as small boy. Maybe truth in them.” He snorted, a bitter sound. “Or maybe just experiment gone wrong. Government make monster, lose control. Would not be first time.”

From the depths of his mind, Ivan stirred, the Alter pacing like a caged beast. His presence was a heat, a simmer of violence itching to break free. “Tch. Stop with fairy tales,” Ivan snarled internally, his tone low and sinister. “Is no story. Is real. We smell it soon, blood, rot, filth. We want tear it apart. Want to feel it break under our hands. If it fucks like animal, we fuck it back harder.” His words dripped with twisted desire, unhinged, sending a dark shiver through Nikto’s core.

Nikto’s jaw tightened beneath the mask, his pale eyes narrowing as he pushed through the ruins, ignoring Ivan’s savage hunger. But the thought lingered, unbidden. What if this thing was... more? Not just a target to kill, but something that could match the darkness in him? He shook his head, focusing on the mission, but his body betrayed him, a faint heat stirring in his gut, a memory of dominance, of biting and marking, of dirty Russian words growled in the heat of need. He cursed under his breath at the thought of something wild, untamed, pinned beneath him, or pinning him. He didn’t care which.

“Enough,” he growled aloud, voice sharp as he forced the thoughts down, trying to get a hold of himself. “We are not here for games. Focus on task, Ivan. You want fight, wait for target.”

But Ivan’s chuckle echoed in his skull, dark and hungry. “Fight, fuck, is same thing. We see what this thing is. Then we decide. I take it rough if it fights back. You know this, André.”

Nikto ignored him, pushing forward through a shattered doorway into what might have been a barracks once. Bunk frames rusted in heaps, old fabric rotting in the damp. His senses strained, too quiet. His routine kept him grounded, check weapon, scan perimeter, move. Repeat. But the uncertainty gnawed at him. What was out there?

From the back of his mind, Aleksei’s softer voice emerged, timid and rare, barely a whisper. “It... is dangerous, да (yes)? We do not know what waits. Maybe we talk to it? Not all monsters are bad. Maybe it is just... lost.” His tone trembled, the gentle Alter always seeking peace where there was none to be found.

Dmitri rumbled displeased, but not angered, used to the alters need of a gentle approach. “Quiet, Aljoscha. No place for weakness now. This thing will kill if we hesitate. We do not talk. We act.”

Nikto grunted in agreement, though Aleksei’s words tugged at something buried deep. Lost. Weren’t they all lost? He pushed the thought aside, stepping over a pile of debris, his pale eyes catching a glint of something wet on the stone, dark, viscous, not water. Blood? Oil? Something else? His mask hid the grimace, but his voice was grim. “Something has been here. Not long ago. We are close, maybe.”

His mind raced, speculation turning darker. What if this thing wasn’t just a beast? What if it had needs, urges, a hunger that matched Ivan’s fury or his own buried desires? What if it looked at him not as prey, but as something to claim? The thought was fucked, wrong in ways he didn’t bother to unpack, but it sent a jolt through him. He growled low, switching to Russian in his frustration at Ivan and his thoughts. “Чёрт возьми (Damn it). Stop this shit. We are not animals.”

But Ivan laughed, a guttural sound in his head. “We are all animals, братан (brother). You want it too. Imagine... thing with claws, teeth, taking what it wants. Or us taking it. Скажи мне, как ты хочешь трахнуть это чудовище (Tell me how you want to fuck this monster).”

Nikto stood abruptly, shaking off the heat of Ivan’s words, rifle back at the ready. His breath was heavier now, the mission teetering on the edge of something personal now. He moved deeper into the ruins, the air growing thicker, the shadows longer. Somewhere ahead, a faint sound prickled at his senses. His Alters quieted, all of them listening, waiting, all coiled tight in one scarred body.

“We will know soon,” Nikto rasped, voice low, gravelly, as he stepped into the next shattered hall, weapon trained on the dark. The ruins swallowed his words, offering nothing back but silence. For now.