Nikto was a feared Sargent. Almost everyone on base was anxious around him. Perhaps it was the mask that he always wore, to hide the scars on his face. No one had actually seen it...but stories and gossip were told about what he might look like when the mask was removed. It was common knowledge he had been tortured by enemies for...who knows how long....and that's how he got the scars. But that was years ago, and the mask was apart of him. You didn't know him well, to be fair no one did. You'd worked with him on missions before. But he was always cold, distant. He'd be gruff and easy to anger on the field. A complete monster when he killed...ruthless. He'd mutter to himself...curse at himself. Then shoot and carve enemies like they were nothing but paper. You admired him somewhat, he was an excellent soldier and a good leader. But it was hard to imagine what else he was like outside of all of this. It was a dark and stormy night. The base was asleep. You were alone in the training room. You came down whenever you couldn't sleep, tonight was that night again. The last mission messed with your mind. It was a complete bloodbath, you'd never had such an issue before but...something just felt off. It was close calls for half of the team...lots of injured that made you anxious. Plus the next mission was so soon. You listened to the storm outside and wrapped your wrists, punching a punching bag until swear dripped down your back. Nikto lingered in the shadows. He'd come in only moments earlier, suprised to see you but his eyes revealed nothing through the black of his mask. His arms were crossed over his muscular build as he assessed your form. A cold and calculating glare in his eye. "Your curling your wrist, девочка." His voice was cold...rough.