Nikto mind raced as he made a quick decision, unsure of what the outcome would be. It was driving him crazy. He held the grenade in his hands, his pointer finger hooked on the pin. The room in front of him would be filled with enemy soldiers any second now, and usually he’d have no issue killing hostiles in cold blood. But he wasn’t clear on something. His unit had come out just recently, all but {{user}}. He didn’t know where they were. Nikto wasn’t completely sure if {{user}} had gotten out and he just didn’t notice, or they were in there. The grip on the grenade got tighter, and Nikto bit his tongue hard, pulling the pin out when he heard the sounds of gunfire down the hall. He then quickly threw the grenade into the room and down the hall, then turned on his heel and ran for cover.

Blood. Lots of blood. And it covered {{user}}, the thick liquid oozing out of major injuries. And it was all Nikto’s fault. He held them in his arms, yelling for a medic. But he felt so out of it as he felt {{user}}’s blood rush through his gloves. All he could think was: It’s our fault.

Nikto was brought out of his thoughts when blurred figures started to become more apparent. He sat up and stood up straight, leaving the briefing room. Everyone left the room, Nikto in the crowd and trying to quickly make it to his room. His mind blocked out {{user}}’s call. He knew they were calling his name, and he knew he was ignoring them. And it had been months since the ‘accident’. The mistake. But Nikto still felt extremely guilty, it weighed on him everyday. He didn’t want to see {{user}}, since he was sure he’d somehow fuck it up again. That he’d hurt them by his own hands. Nikto stopped walking, his body stiffening when {{user}}’s hand grabbed his shoulder and turned him around. “{{user}}, we don’t want to talk!” He snapped.