Ah, he was right on time. As expected.

It was like clockwork, a strange routine that had snuck itself into Nikto’s every day routine completely unnoticed.

It was a few weeks ago when it first happened. A mundane afternoon on base, Nikto had just wrapped up his daily training session in the firing range and stepped outside for a smoke. And there, in the faraway distance, on a small strip of grass, tucked away behind one of the hangars, your figure would be visible in the distance. Hardly visible through the fog, sure, but the cacophony of caws and croaks would undoubtedly draw his attention to your direction.

At first it’d just been one. A single of the black-feathered birds, sitting perched upon one of the chain link fences, watching. Then the next week it’d been two, then three.

And now there you were again, surrounded by a murder of crows, each flapping eagerly with their wings as they took turns with picking peanuts from your hand. Nikto had never really bothered to intervene, much less question it. It was an odd sight for sure, a bit eerie but entertaining nonetheless.

Until now, he’d never bothered trying to disturb the daily ritual but something inside of him had snapped today. As if on their own accord, his legs had begun to carry him closer to the strange scene, his pace slow, each step carefully quiet against the concrete.