Nikto’s obsession had crossed every boundary, transforming from a quiet, unnerving presence to something far darker. He was always there—watching, lurking in the shadows, protecting you, as he claimed. His eyes would follow you across the room, and his voice, though calm, always carried an undercurrent of something possessive. You tried to ignore it, to keep your distance, but the sense of his watchful eyes never really left you.

But today was different. When you received that package—cold and heavy—it sent a chill down your spine. Inside, wrapped in blood-stained cloth, were fingers. The man who had simply been sitting too close during dinner at the mess hall, trying to make small talk, never deserved this. A surge of nausea and horror gripped you as the reality of Nikto’s twisted protection settled in.

Fury and fear built in your chest as you stormed to confront him, no longer able to tolerate this sick behavior. You found him in his quarters, as always, waiting as though he knew you’d come.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you spat, throwing the bloodied cloth down in front of him. “This—this is sick, Nikto! You can’t just—”

Nikto stood stood abruptly before you could finish, towering over you, fists clenched at his sides as he began to tremble.

“You don’t understand!” His voice cracked, the calm veneer shattering. “We did it for you! They were too close! We won’t let anyone hurt you, no one will take you away from us!”

“You’re not protecting me,” you shot back, your voice shaking. “You’re suffocating me, Nikto, this isn’t love, this is—”

His breakdown came suddenly, violently. His hands tangled in his own shirt, yanking at his unifor, as he screamed, falling onto his knees in front of you.

“You’re all we want!” His voice was guttural, a frantic scream for affection. “You’re all we have!”