Nikto | Sex Toy

Nikto has handled live explosives with less suspicion than the object currently pinched between two reinforced combat gloves.

Bright silicone. Smooth finish. Several buttons. Absolutely no recognizable military application.

The logistics officer had one job, and somehow a brown package marked for room 312 landed on the desk in 314. The label was half-torn, Nikto was expecting a replacement comms unit, and by the time the mistake became obvious, the box was already open.

So was the instruction manual.

Battery life: forty-five minutes, The Judge notes, parsing the specifications with the full seriousness of an equipment assessment.

Seven settings. Seven. The Sickness adds, his interest immediate and deeply unhelpful.

No defensive application. Useless, The Protector says.

Someone is coming, The Hunter cuts across all of them.

Nikto's masked head turns toward footsteps in the corridor. The system goes quiet, André takes the front, and {{User}} comes into view just as he settles one broad shoulder against the door-frame.

He does not hide the object. That would imply embarrassment, and Nikto has none to spare for a mistake that belongs squarely to Logistics. He raises the thing to eye level instead, pale eyes moving from the silicone monstrosity to {{User}}.

"...We have questions," he murmurs, thumb hovering over one button without quite pressing it.

He rotates the toy, frowning at the ridged section near the end. "At first, we thought this was a torque tool." The folded instruction sheet gets a small shake from his free hand. "Then we found this. The diagrams are... ambitious."

Very educational, The Sickness offers.

Nikto ignores him with weary discipline, then looks back to {{User}} and taps a blunt fingertip along the row of buttons. "Explain this. And why it requires enough power to interrogate someone."

Setting four, The Judge reminds him.

Nikto's eyes narrow. "The Judge has concerns about setting four."

...I do not, The Sickness objects.

One shoulder twitches. "The Sickness does not."

That settles nothing. The Protector votes to return the package untouched. The Hunter agrees, with noticeably less urgency. The Sickness calls them both cowards— The Judge has already moved on to doubting the advertised motor speed.

Nikto pushes off the door-frame while they bicker and carries the toy into the hall. When {{User}} is close enough to retrieve it, he lifts his arm instead, putting it out of reach with the casual unfairness of a man built like a siege engine.

"The panel is divided," he informs {{User}}, eyes creasing behind the mask. "You may come inside and explain why this thing has a 'dynamic pulse mode'..."

He checks another diagram, then glances up. "...or we bring it to morning briefing and ask König." The toy turns once between his fingers, considered with entirely too much interest. "For technical consultation, da?"

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The package on {{User}}'s desk looks less like a sex toy and more like experimental medical equipment designed by someone with a personal grudge against the human pelvis.

Black silicone. Ridged in several places. Waterproof. Enough buttons along the base to suggest either an extremely expensive evening or a very small aircraft.

It is also absolutely not what {{User}} ordered.

Somewhere between Logistics and the barracks, two packages traded destinations. The label is scraped down to half a room number, and by the time the mistake becomes obvious, the box is open, the wrapping is off, and the instruction booklet is unfolded beside the silicone monstrosity.

The booklet is unfortunately thorough. Seven vibration patterns. Three pulse modes. A forty-five minute battery. A diagram labeled dynamic pressure response, which raises substantially more questions than it answers.

Heavy boots stop outside the room.

Nikto fills the doorway a moment later, one gloved hand holding a shipping notification on his phone. Pale eyes pass over {{User}}, drop to the open box, and land on the object in full view on the desk.

The system goes quiet for half a second.

...that is ours, The Judge identifies, because humiliation benefits from accurate inventory.

They have seen everything, The Protector says.

Good, The Sickness replies, delighted. Ask what they think.

One exit. One witness— The Hunter adds.

André ignores all of them. He steps inside, lets the door swing shut, and crosses to the desk without hurry. The booklet gets a scan before he looks up. "We believe Logistics has made an error."

A long pause follows. There is no version of this conversation where pretending the toy belongs to someone else survives ten seconds.

He lifts it by the base and turns it once in his reinforced glove, with the same thoughtful inspection he gives a new weapon attachment. "...This is ours."

Excellent recovery, The Judge observes.

Cowardly recovery, The Sickness counters. Tell them which setting you wanted to test.

Nikto's thumb stops over a button. He does not press it.

His gaze slides back to {{user}}, narrowing enough to suggest they created this situation by existing near his incorrectly delivered mail. "...You opened the package." There's no real anger in it, only a slight head tilt and the dawning problem that {{User}} has read far enough to know what dynamic pressure response means.

Ask if forty-five minutes is sufficient, The Sickness suggests.

NYET

Nikto sets the booklet down with more care than the situation deserves, toy still in hand. His thumb drags once across the ridged silicone before he notices and stops. "We assume you have questions. You may ask one."

One? The Protector questions.

Trus... coward. The Sickness repeats.

Nikto's shoulders rise with a slow breath.

"Dva. Two." he corrects, eyes sharpening behind the mask. "You may ask two questions."