Nikto sat on the bench outside the base, the faint glow of his cigarette flickering in the evening light. His large hands trembled slightly as he brought it to his lips, taking a slow drag. Despite his steely frame, a restlessness betrayed him - icy blue eyes fixed on the sinking sun, thoughts clearly far from peaceful.

You walked past him, but couldn’t help slowing your steps, drawn to his looming figure against the backdrop of dusk. Nikto’s instability was no secret; everyone knew how easily he could be triggered, his Dissociative Identity Disorder making him a volatile presence.

Without turning, his gravelly voice cut through the quiet, smoke curling from his nostrils. “We don’t like being watched.”