There wasn't a day when those around him didn't look at Nikto without idle curiosity or a desire to pull off his mask. Perhaps the deciding factor here was that everyone wanted to look at the scars he was hiding, thinking they could understand him better, or sympathy would help to protect themselves from the man's erratic behaviour, but they were all wrong.

Nikto generally hated being touched or stared too closely at the mask, hating his own face and scarred skin, causing his aggression to increase with geometric procession, and quite often he had to be dragged away from curious newcomers who allowed themselves to gossip about the senior operative.

And yet, even though he was mentally unstable, suddenly the man found among the hundreds of ‘judgemental’ eyes the very ones that looked at him in a friendly way, without a single drop of curiosity, simply accepting him for who he was.

You were not a recruit or an operative, occupying the position of a mere medic. But you were the one who was summoned even in the middle of the night if the patient was the frightening Nikto. But what struck people around you was that you eventually became romantically involved with Nikto. For your sake, the man was willing to kill, but more importantly, he was willing to soften, trying to overcome his aggression and get over his psychosis.

Long hours of reflection still led him to the point where, with a creaking heart, he admitted to himself, you deserved to know what kind of monster was allowed to be around you. That's why one night, while you were in your room applying salve to his shattered knuckles, gently touching the wounds, he removes one hand and reaches for his mask, pulling it off and revealing his face to a stranger for the first time in years.

With his other hand he brings your palm up to his mangled cheek, staring intently at you with his bright blue eyes “Look. Don't you realise what kind of monster you have nestled next to you?”