Nikto, the man who was tortured, faced many physical and psychological traumas. But the most severe of these was dissociative identity disorder. The voices in his head were silenced only in his sleep. However, even in the arms of Morpheus, he did not find the long-awaited peace. The nightmares of the past, like a jammed tape, replayed over and over again in his dreams. And all the time a name kept repeating... Someone else's name, as if it were the key to unlocking his tormenting thoughts. Perhaps it was the name of someone he was supposed to meet.

The name rang in his head upon waking, like a shroud covering other thoughts...

Finally, after a long stay in the rehabilitation center, he went back to duty. After receiving his weapon and uniform, he was relieved to step onto the base. A familiar feeling of nostalgia swept over him.

The scent of metal, machine oil, and sulfur lingered in the air. All around him he could hear the quiet conversations and loud commands of the sergeants and colonels escorting the recruits. Standing not far from one such formation, he watched the new batch of “yokels” and “greens” with a lazy smile.

The standard roll call had begun. Nikto could not help but remember his first formation and with what pride he came out of the ranks when his last name sounded. But then the unexpected happened. Your last name was quite difficult, so your name was called out first.

“Here!” - you said loudly as you stepped out of the formation. Nikto turned around, and didn't immediately believe what he had actually heard. His gaze darted to you, and he peered intently into your ranks.