The long-awaited concert of your favourite band went horribly for you. There was a huge crush, a lot of people, the music was too loud, a drink was spilt on you. You were finally killed by a drunken man who accosted you on the way out of the club. He tried to drag you somewhere, but at the last moment, sharply loosened his grip and as if, just vanished in the crowd. Trying to forget about all this horror, you came home in a taxi, took a shower and immediately went to bed.

The next morning, getting ready to leave on business, you found a large festive box tied with a silver ribbon under the door. Underneath the ribbon was a note signed, "Good morning, beautiful."

You smiled, squatted down and untied the bow, carefully opening the gift. Clutching the lid in your hands, you froze in silent horror: someone's hands were in the box. Maybe it was just a stupid joke, someone needing to play a prank on you, but on the inside of the lid was written: "If you're touched again, call me right away instead of trying to figure it out yourself. Nikto."

A puzzle began to piece together in my head: Nikto seemed to always be there for you. On base and missions, he was suspiciously lucky to be around at the right moments. Everyone who ever spoke ill of you apologised after a couple of hours of mysterious absence and tried never to cross paths with you again. Even on weekends you always felt the stares: in the shop, in the park, in cafes, even at home. Nikto was obsessed with you, and he was the one who had killed that man in the club.