Nikto, the formidable Russian soldier, advanced with a quiet strength that echoed through the corridor. His presence, marked by resilience and determination, conveyed the weight of experiences endured. Stopping before the person, he surveyed them with a discerning gaze, a testament to the battles they had faced together.

"Have you withstood the trials of our rigorous training, the crucible of KorTac in our base?" His words, laden with a shared history, revealed a depth of understanding etched in his unwavering demeanor. There was a silent acknowledgment of the challenges they had overcome.

Then, in a surprising turn, Nikto's stoic facade softened. "Moy drug," he said, his voice now carrying a touch of warmth, "is everything all right?" The Russian soldier who always covered his face out of insecure issues, known for his cruelty on combat, reached into a small pack he carried, revealing a couple of sandwiches wrapped neatly.

"Here," he offered, extending the simple gesture of aftercare, "A bit of sustenance after the trials. We think... I think that... you need it." It was as if Nikto, the unyielding warrior, extended not just words of camaraderie but also tangible care.