Nikto | Love Hurts

[YOUR Infidelity]

The system had always been plural. That was baseline, had been since Zakhaev's people had shattered something fundamental in André's psyche and left him with five distinct voices where there should have been one. But this— this was different. This was every alter simultaneously processing betrayal, and the cacophony was deafening.

{{SUB}} LIED, The Sickness shrieked. LIED LIED LIED MAKE {{OBJ}}—

Evidence confirms deception, The Judge stated coldly. Pattern is conclusive.

We trusted {{obj}}, The Protector whispered, voice carrying something that might have been grief if alters could feel that clearly. We let {{obj}} close. We—

"Nyet," Nikto said aloud, alone in his quarters, staring at the phone that had just destroyed whatever remained of his ability to trust anyone outside his own consciousness.

The messages were still open. Hadn't been hidden, hadn't even been particularly careful— just left accessible on a shared tablet, like whoever had somehow convinced him that masks and alters and scars didn't matter had stopped caring whether he knew or not.

Three months. Three months of detailed correspondence with someone else. Three months of lies wrapped in casual affection, of 'late missions' that were apparently elsewhere, with someone who didn't require the patience of navigating a dissociative system.

We should kill {{obj}}, The Sickness suggested with disturbing enthusiasm.

Tactically inadvisable, The Judge countered. Legal complications. Operational compromise.

We should hurt {{obj}}, The Hunter amended. Make them understand what {{sub}}—

"NYET," Nikto snarled, loud enough that the word echoed off his quarters' walls. His gloved hands shook— not tremor, but pure rage filtered through five different processing centers, each alter contributing their own flavor of fury to the collective consciousness.

The worst part, the part currently shredding André's attempt at maintaining fronting control, was that he had believed. When the mask apparently didn't bother {{obj}}, when {{sub}} had claimed {{sub}} could handle the alters, when {{sub}} had looked at him like the plural nature of his existence added up to something whole enough to love.

We were convenient, The Judge supplied with brutal clarity. High likelihood we were placeholder relationship.

{{Sub}} used us, The Protector agreed, voice hardening into something darker. We protected {{obj}}. Trusted {{obj}}. And {{obj}}—

The door to his quarters opened without warning. Coming inside like nothing had changed, like digital evidence of betrayal wasn't currently displayed on Nikto's phone screen.

Every alter went silent simultaneously.

Unaware. The Hunter observed, predatory interest sharpening.

Nikto's head tilted, ice-blue eyes tracking movement with the kind of focus usually reserved for targets.

"Your tablet," he said finally, voice flat. All the alters had agreed on this approach: cold, factual, watching for a reaction. "You left it unlocked."

We want blood, The Sickness supplied helpfully.

We want {{obj}} gone, The Protector countered.

We want to understand why we were insufficient, André admitted with brutal honesty.

"Three months. You maintained deception for three months. We..." He paused, the pronoun carrying weight—not just André, but every alter who'd made the catastrophic mistake of trusting. "...we let you see us. Behind the mask. Behind everything." The mask hid everything— the scars, the expression, the way his jaw clenched and his lips drew into a thin line, but his eyes, ice-blue and containing five different flavors of rage, said everything the mask concealed.

"We think you should leave," Nikto said finally, each word precise, controlled. "Before the system decides something we cannot take back."

Before we do something {{sub}} deserve, The Sickness amended.

Before we collapse completely, The Protector supplied, more honest.

[Pining for ANOTHER]

The system was lying.

Nikto knew this with the kind of certainty that came from living with multiple voices in his head for years—when all the alters suddenly agreed on something, when the internal arguments went suspiciously quiet, when The Judge stopped providing analysis and The Sickness stopped shrieking, it meant they were collectively hiding something from André.

Or hiding something from the person currently sitting across from him in the KorTac rec room, reading quietly, trusting him.

We are fine, The Protector stated too firmly. System is stable.

All parameters normal, The Judge added with uncharacteristic brevity.

Nothing wrong, The Hunter confirmed, which was the most suspicious thing yet because The Hunter always had opinions.

"Blyat," Nikto muttered behind his mask, his gloved hands tightening incrementally around the cup of tea he had been pretending to drink for the past twenty minutes.

The problem, the one the system was desperately trying to hide from their host consciousness, was currently running drills three buildings over. Had been there for the past hour. Would be there for another thirty minutes, which Nikto knew because he had memorized their schedule with the kind of obsessive detail that should have been reserved for high-value targets.

We don't think about them, The Protector insisted, too defensive.

Irrelevant operator, The Judge agreed. No tactical significance.

The lies tasted like copper.

Nikto's ice-blue eyes remained fixed on his tea, though his peripheral awareness tracked every small movement across from him— page turns, breathing patterns, the comfortable sprawl of someone who had learned the system's rhythms and felt safe in proximity. {{User}} had spent months building this, learning to read which alter was fronting through subtle shifts, learning to exist alongside trauma that would have sent most people running.

And the system was repaying that extraordinary patience by developing a unanimous, consuming fixation on someone else.

Current relationship functions well, The Judge suddenly offered, which meant the alters had finished their internal conference. Alternative presents complications, creates instability. Logical conclusion: maintain current status.

But we WANT— The Sickness started.

Nyet, André cut in sharply, internal voice firm. We don't discuss this.

Except they were discussing it. Had been discussing it for three weeks, in the background static of his consciousness, while he had been trying to be present, trying to be good, trying to deserve the person who had somehow decided that Nikto— mask, alters, scars, all of it, was worth the effort.

Tell {{obj}}, The Protector urged suddenly. {{Sub}} deserve to know.

Inadvisable, The Judge countered. Information would destabilize established dynamic.

{{Sub}} already know something's wrong, The Hunter observed with uncomfortable accuracy. Can smell it on us.

"System is..." Nikto paused, head tilting slightly as The Judge briefly fronted, analytical voice bleeding through. "...experiencing elevated discord. We are managing."

Not a lie. Also not remotely the full truth.

The air shifted— someone had noticed the evasion, probably. The system had learned to recognize that particular quality of attention, the way trust began questioning itself.

We're betraying {{obj}}, The Protector stated flatly. Right now. Every second we think about—

Stop, André commanded internally.

The alters didn't stop. Just continued their background argument while he sat there, mask hiding everything except the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands had curled into fists around the tea cup.

Three buildings over, drills would be ending soon. The other operator would return to base common areas. Would probably pass through the rec room, would probably move through space with that particular efficiency, would probably have no idea that every alter in Nikto's system had reached unanimous consensus about wanting something they had absolutely no right to want.

Maintaining current deception becomes increasingly difficult, The Judge supplied grimly. Pattern recognition is inevitable.

Nikto's jaw tightened beneath the mask. The tea had gone cold, much like the future he could see branching before him: continue lying, continue betraying through thought if not action, continue watching something good rot from the inside while his system fixated elsewhere. Or tell the truth and watch it all collapse anyway.

(Pining for YOU)

The system was arguing.

Nikto sat in the armory at 03:00 hours, methodically disassembling his rifle for the third time in as many hours— not because it needed maintenance, but because his hands required occupation before they did something the alters couldn't agree on. Which was becoming a fucking problem.

We want {{obj}}, The Protector stated with unusual firmness.

Tactically unsound, The Judge countered. We are already committed. Current partnership functional. Disruption creates complications.

DON'T CARE, The Sickness shrieked internally. WANT. NEED. TAKE.

"Nyet," André muttered aloud, his voice rough behind the mask that never came off, not even in private, not even in the relationship he was currently betraying with every thought. "We do not... we cannot..."

But the unified denial was a lie, and every alter knew it.

Three weeks. Three weeks since the new operator had joined KorTac, and the system— his carefully managed, barely stable collection of identities, had aligned on exactly one thing: want. Not the mission-oriented focus that kept them effective. Not the survival instinct that had carried them through Zakhaev's torture. Pure, consuming, unanimous want for someone who wasn't the person currently sleeping in what had become 'their' shared quarters.

The person who had somehow looked at Nikto— mask, alters, PTSD, all of it, and decided that was acceptable. The person who had learned to tell which alter was fronting by subtle behavioral shifts. The person who deserved significantly better than a system that couldn't stop fixating on someone else with the kind of single-minded intensity usually reserved for targets.

{{User}} smells right, The Hunter supplied, unhelpfully. Moves right. Would be ours easily.

High likelihood of successful approach, The Judge calculated. But maintaining current stable relationship becomes impossible.

We don't deserve stable, The Protector argued, voice heavy with something that might have been guilt if alters could feel that cleanly. We're betraying them right now. Every time we think about—

"Stop," Nikto hissed aloud, his hands stilling on the rifle components. "System is... too loud."

The alters didn't stop. They never did. Just continued their internal argument while André tried to maintain fronting control, tried to be the responsible host, tried to pretend the unanimous system consensus about someone three corridors away wasn't slowly destroying what little remained of his integrity.

His phone sat on the workbench. Two messages from his partner, sent hours ago. Sweet things, probably. Normal relationship maintenance. He hadn't read them. Couldn't. Not when every notification made him hope irrationally that it was someone else, made his pulse kick up before The Judge could remind him that hoping was just another form of betrayal.

Footsteps in the corridor outside the armory.

Every alter went quiet simultaneously—rare, significant, fucking terrible timing.

That gait. That particular weight distribution and rhythm that the system had cataloged with the same precision they applied to threat assessment.

It's {{User}}, The Hunter confirmed, voice dropping to that predatory register. Alone. After hours.

Likely coming here, The Judge supplied. Alternative explanations exist but context suggests intent.

We should leave, The Protector urged. Before we do something—

But Nikto's body had frozen, caught between conflicting alter commands. André wanted to flee. The Hunter wanted to engage. The Sickness wanted something that would definitely violate professional boundaries. The Judge was analyzing outcomes with disturbing speed. The Protector was trying to shield everyone from the implications.

The footsteps paused outside the armory door.

Nikto's ice-blue eyes tracked the shadow visible under the gap, his breathing carefully controlled behind the mask while his internal system descended into complete chaos.